


Expectations (And Their Undoing)

by SqueekaCuomo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, Ice Cream, M/M, Teacher Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5271320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SqueekaCuomo/pseuds/SqueekaCuomo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco thought planning a charity ball would be easy. (It wasn't.) He thought Scorpius would be great at flying. (He wasn't.) And he thought Harry Potter would treat him like he did when they were kids. (He didn't.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expectations (And Their Undoing)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oldenuf2nb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldenuf2nb/gifts).



> Happiest of happy Erised’s to you, oldenuf2nb! I loved your prompts and had so much fun playing with them. I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Big thanks to the mods for working with all of my issues this time around. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. And thank you to my lovely, wonderful, patient beta for working on this with me right up to the very last minute. This fic would not be what it is without your input. (True story.)

**Expectations (And Their Undoing)**

“Hmmm,” her voice was a throaty purr that even Draco wasn’t immune to, even after all these years. It was a shame, he thought as he looked up at Pansy, that things hadn’t worked out between them. “How about Celestina Warbeck? She’s always guaranteed to draw in a crowd. And I haven’t heard of her performing lately, I’m sure we’d be able to get her.”

“No, we couldn’t.” Draco looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. Was she beautiful? Yes. Did her brains match her beauty? Not in the slightest. It wasn’t that she was stupid, just rather flighty. 

“Why not?” It was Pansy’s turn to give Draco an incredulous look, her dark eyes narrowed. “Are you saying that our little group isn’t good enough for the great Celestina Warbeck?”

Draco sighed. He couldn’t help it. “No, I’m saying she’s dead, Pans.” He laid down the parchment of names he’d been staring at for the past hour and rubbed his forehead. It had been a long day and he was beyond tired.

“Since when?” Pansy tilted her head, causing her glossy black ringlets to fall over her shoulder in a wave.

“Since about a week ago?” Draco tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice, but failed. The news of Warbeck’s death had been absolutely everywhere for the past seven days. How she’d managed to completely miss it was beyond him.

“Huh,” was all she said. “I suppose it was in the papers?” Draco opened his mouth to answer, but he didn’t get a chance. “Darling, you know I don’t bother with the _Prophet_. No matter. We can do better than some old dead crooner, anyway.” 

Draco shook his head, simply too tired to argue with her. “Look, I’m so tired I can barely see straight. Maybe we should have it up for tonight?” He tried to stifle a yawn, but failed.

“But Draco! This is so important.” Pansy leaned forward, the deep v-neck of her top sliding dangerously lower. “It’s the tenth year anniversary of Hope for Heroes. We need to get this exactly right!”

“I know that, but I’m not going to get any work done if I fall asleep on top of said work.” Draco pulled off his glasses and set them on top of the list of possible celebrity guests he’d been reading over. He stared at them absentmindedly, the flickering candlelight making the gold wire rims sparkle. 

They’d been working on the ten-year anniversary ball for their charity for weeks and they’d yet to come up with a single suitable guest. They needed someone the Wizarding world loved, someone they looked up to. In short… they needed a hero. But as Draco didn’t have anyone listed in his contacts that fell under that category, he’d been searching for the next best thing. Unfortunately, he hadn’t come up with one name that meant anything to the cause. 

And dead or not, Pansy was right; they could do better than Celestina Warbeck. No, they _needed_ to do better than an old songbird. 

“Well then, I’m off!” Pansy positively bounded out of her seat with the energy and enthusiasm of a teenager. How she did it after a long day of running around and trying to pull together a charity ball was anyone’s guess. Draco could barely get himself to stand up, let alone do any bounding of any sort.

“What's this one’s name?” Draco asked, though he didn’t know why he bothered. Pansy never went out with someone more than once. Occasionally he wondered if she’d ever settle down with someone, but he doubted it. If he had to put galleons on it, he’d bet that she’d be this fiery and independent to the day of her death. It was a comforting thought.

“Do you really care?” She swung her midnight blue cloak over her shoulders and gave him her best coquettish smile.

Draco couldn’t help it, he laughed. “You know I don’t.”

“In that case…” Pansy picked up her purse and did a quick inspection of her face in the small silver compact that Draco had given her last Christmas. It was a family heirloom; the front bore an ornate M with a snake wrapped around it. It had tiny emerald eyes that flashed when they hit the light. 

His mother, in a fit of… well, he didn’t really know what, had tossed it in a box to be trashed. Draco had rescued the box before anyone had a chance to get their hands on it, and when he’d gotten home, Draco had hidden the box of trinkets away in his hall closet, only bothering to do a quick examination of the top layer. When he’d see the compact, he’d thought of Pansy instantly. 

“You look perfect, Pans.” Draco pulled the ribbon out of his hair and shook his head, closing his eyes and sighing as his pale blonde hair fell free. “Why do you even bother with the show?”

“So, you can tell me how gorgeous I am, _obviously_.” It wasn’t until she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek that Draco realized she’d come to stand next to him. She ran her hand over his hair, stroking the locks like he’d always wished his mother would. “I worry about you,” she whispered.

It took all of Draco’s strength to keep his eyes from flying open. He did _not_ want to have this conversation tonight. He was far too tired for it. “Hmmm, you better get going. Wouldn’t want to keep your date waiting.” His voice was light, but he could tell that Pansy had gotten the point when she pulled her hand back. Even though he could now barely stand to, Draco continued to keep his eyes shut as he listened to the clicking of her heels as she walked to the fireplace. 

“You know,” he heard her call from by the grate, and only then did he turn his head to look at her. She was smiling slightly and there was a hint of mischief in her eyes. Never a good sign. “There is someone that we haven’t discussed. Someone who would be absolutely _perfect_ for our little event…”

Draco waited for whatever random name Pansy was about to throw out. For the past week she’d come up with about a hundred “absolutely perfect” guests and each had been more horrible than the last, so he wasn’t holding out much hope. But in retrospect, Draco realized that he should have seen this one coming. “Who,” he asked, preparing himself for someone completely ridiculous.

Before answering, she grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and tossed it into the crackling fire. As the flames roared emerald green, she said, “Why, Harry Potter, of course.” Draco’s mouth fell open in shock and before he could respond, she’d spoken her destination and disappeared into the flames. 

By the time Draco had recovered, all traces of Pansy were gone.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

“No way, absolutely not.” Draco was on his feet the second Pansy walked into the office the next morning. He’d spent the night before thinking about Harry Potter, something he hadn’t done in a _very_ long time. Draco understood where Pansy was coming from; Potter would make the perfect guest for their charity ball. Who better to be the main attraction at an event honoring those who died in the war and their families? But Potter? There was no way!

Just _no_ way.

As far as Draco knew, Potter had been refusing public appearances for years. In fact, the more he’d thought about it, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d heard about Potter in the papers, or even in passing. It was almost like he’d ceased to exist. Oh, Draco knew he was still out there somewhere. If Potter had died, the whole Wizarding world would have erupted. But it was like he’d gone into hiding or something. And it had been _years_ since Draco had seen him. In fact, the last time Draco could remember actually seeing Potter had been around the time he was planning his wedding to Astoria, and it hadn’t ended well. He’d tried to completely forget about that night, not telling a single soul, but he sometimes wondered if maybe he’d made the wrong choice.

“Hmmm,” Pansy purred as she hung her cloak, a violent shade of pink today, on its hook next to Draco’s. “My evening was _lovely_ ,” allowing Draco time to imagine everything the word implied, “thank you for asking.”

Draco ground his teeth together. Pansy knew what she was doing. Draco knew Pansy knew what she was doing. He wasn’t up for it. “Don’t play dumb. It’s unbecoming of you.” 

_That_ got her attention.

“Why is it so impossible?” For once, Pansy was completely serious. It made her look like an entirely different person. Draco wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “He is _Harry Potter_ , savior of the Wizarding world. Who better to stand up at our event and-”

“ _Because_ he’s Harry Potter, savior of the Wizarding world,” he echoed back at her.

“And what does that matter?” Pansy put her hands on her hips and gave him a no-nonsense stare. Draco opened his mouth, ready to list all the reasons he’d come up with the night before, but Pansy beat him to the punch. “And don’t give me any rubbish about how he doesn’t do appearances or any of that blah, blah, blah.”

Well then, what did that leave? So… 

He knew what that left, but Draco wasn’t about to admit it out loud. He wasn’t about to tell Pansy that the _real_ reason he didn’t want to approach Potter was because of their history. He’d worked hard to make something of himself and to polish off the Malfoy name in hopes of returning it to some of its former glory. He had a long way to go, but Draco was fiercely proud of what he’d done over the past ten years. He’d made a choice long ago and he was sticking with it.

When he didn’t answer straight away again, Pansy walked over and placed her hand lightly on his arm.

“That was a long time ago, Draco.” He looked away from her, focusing on the small picture of Scorpius that sat on his desk. A small pang on loneliness shot through him as he thought of his son away at Hogwarts for the first time. “You’ve grown up. I’m sure that he has as well. Let the past stay in the past.”

Draco pressed his lips together so hard that they ached. 

“Who knows, getting ahold of him might do you some good.” She walked out of the room, leaving him to think about what she’d just said.

If only Pansy really knew what she was asking him to do.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

A few hours later, Draco and Pansy were seated at the tiny table in their office.

To be honest… the office was small, bordering on cramped. As it turned out, running a non-profit charity did not put a lot of galleons in the bank. Sure, he still had the majority of the Malfoy fortune at his disposal, but Draco was trying his hardest to make it on his own, only dipping into the family vaults when absolutely necessary. 

When they’d first come up with the idea for the charity, Draco and Pansy had decided to set up the headquarters for Hope for Heroes in the heart of Diagon Alley. They’d thought it was the perfect place for a group that helped out the widows and families of fallen war heroes. Unfortunately space in Diagon Alley, even a small three-room office above a restaurant, was not cheap.

And because of that, they spent their lunch time crowded around a miniature table that was covered in rolls of parchments, catering menus and brochures from different venues. They each had a takeout container from the new restaurant, Dim Sum Lose Sum, below them. It was the first of its kind in Diagon Alley and they’d yet to tire of it. Today they’d both opted for ramen with large chunks of beef and assorted vegetables. There was also a steaming container of pork buns sitting atop a stack of leaflets from nearby florists. Draco thought that if anyone else had taken a look at the table, they’d have thought they were planning a wedding, not a high-class charity ball. 

Grabbing a pork bun, Draco sighed as he bit into it, the meat practically melting on his tongue. “I think we should forget the caterer and just go with these for the hors d’oeuvres.”

Pansy followed suit, snagging a bun for herself. “No way. Then everyone would know about them and we’d never get any.” She looked at the half-eaten bun as if it were the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Draco could hardly blame her.

“Too true, Pans.” Draco inhaled the delicious aroma before opening his mouth to pop the rest of it in. He could taste the perfectly steamed dough and meat before it even passed his lips, which was a good thing, because before Draco had a chance to actually taste it, an owl began tapping on the window with its beak. Instantly, Draco knew the letter was from Hogwarts. There was no reasonable explanation for how he knew other than to say that it was a parent’s instinct. His heart began to pound painfully in his chest as he stared at the bird. What had happened? Was Scorpius ok?

Bun forgotten, Draco jumped up and rushed over to the window, yanking it open. Without any more invitation, the owl, a handsome barn owl with jewel-bright eyes, flew into the room and landed on the arm of Draco’s chair. She gave a soft hoot and stuck out her leg to offer him a small scroll with the Hogwarts crest pressed into wax. 

Hands shaking, Draco reached for the supple leather straps that kept the scroll secured to the owl’s leg. They’d been double-knotted in a lopsided bow and Draco struggled to undo the knots as his hands continued to betray him. The more he fought the leather, the more he shook, and eventually he found that the owl had begun to wobble on her talons, too. It was a fact that was not lost on her as she clicked her beak at him impatiently as if to say, ‘Get your act together, sir.' 

Tired of being jerked around, the owl nipped painfully at Draco’s fingers, drawing a thin line of crimson blood. He hissed, and decided to just yank the message out rather than continuing to bother with the ties. Finally free, and clearly annoyed, the angry owl clicked her beak at Draco before snatching up the un-eaten half of his pork bun and flying back out the window.

Draco stuck his bleeding finger in his mouth, the salty tang of blood making him wrinkle his nose in disgust. “Stupid bird,” he said, around his finger.

It wasn’t until the owl was no more than a speck in the sky that Draco remembered Pansy was there. Naturally, she was laughing at him. “What?” he snapped.

“Is that what it’s like to be a parent? Jumping up for owls and shaking so hard that you practically knock them over?”

Draco gave her a look that sobered her up more quickly than any hangover potion ever could have. “You would never be able to understand, Pansy. You don’t have the capacity for that sort of love. At least not that I’ve ever seen.”

Without a single world, not even a sarcastic eyebrow raise, Pansy turned back to her lunch and pretended to read over a menu. He stared at her, wondering how they’d become so different. Draco didn’t really need to wonder, though, as he knew the answer. 

He’d become a father.

Not because he’d wanted to, or because he’d fallen in love, or any other such nonsense. 

No, Draco had married quickly after the end of the war - and advantageously - in the hopes of restoring some honor to the crumbling Malfoy name. On his lonelier nights, Draco would lie awake in bed and look back, wondering if he’d made the right decision, marrying her. But one thought of Scorpius and he knew that he’d do it all over again if it meant having his son. There was nothing, not a single person, he would give up his child for. All of the years of loneliness were worth a single smile from Scorpius. _Had it really been that long?_ , he wondered. Had he actually been working for the past thirteen years to try and polish off his family’s reputation? Draco sagged, feeling suddenly tired. 

He didn’t regret becoming a father, not for a single second. Scorpius was his life, but there were days when he felt like maybe he’d missed out on something. It only took one glance at Pansy for him to realize that. They were the same age, but she seemed so much younger and more full of life than Draco could ever remember being. He envied her for it. 

But still, Draco loved his son dearly. Everything he did was for Scorpius. That was something that Pansy didn’t understand and he didn’t think she ever would. Not that there was anything wrong with that, she just didn’t have a single maternal bone in her body. And he had to give her credit for knowing that about herself. “I’m sorry,” he heard himself whisper to her. “That was… harsh. I shouldn’t have said it.”

Pansy pretended to ignore him, but Draco knew she was listening. “Truth be told, I’ve always admired you for knowing exactly who you are and what you do or don’t want.” At that, she finally looked up, all traces of anger forgotten.

“You’ve never been carefree, Draco,” she said, studying his face. “I know that. But enough of that…” She shook back her hair as if shaking off her feelings. Unlike the little girl that Malfoy had known at Hogwarts, this Pansy, _his_ Pansy, didn’t hold a grudge. It gave one wrinkles, she’d taken to saying. “What does your little letter say? I hope it’s perfectly scandalous.” She smiled widely, letting Draco know that was (half) kidding.

Quickly unrolling the scroll, Draco read it over once, twice, before staring at in confusion, and not just a little shock. Pansy, never one to be left out of anything, grabbed the scroll from him. He let her take it, and picked up the small picture that he kept on his desk. Their office was so small that he barely had to take three steps to reach for it. 

Draco looked at the photo as Pansy said, “Oooh… A letter from a professor! Dear Mr. Malfoy,” she stopped to snicker. “Your darling Scorpius is having trouble in his flying lessons. Seems he can’t get his broom off the ground! Oh my, this _is_ scandalous.” Draco closed his eyes in dread; she hadn’t even gotten to the best part. “Most confusing. We should meet. Must discuss. Free tomorrow. Blah. Blah. Blah. Much love…”

Draco braced himself.

“Professor Harry Potter!” Pansy shrieked and Draco could hear the parchment crumpling in her hands. He looked over at her and was unsurprised to see that she’d pressed the scroll to her chest in a fit of excitement. Her face was lit up, her dark eyes wide with glee. “Oh Draco! You haven’t got any excuses now.” 

He hated to admit it, but she was right.

She howled with laughter, even as Draco felt his stomach sinking. He turned his back on her, refusing to answer. What could he possibly say? It’s not like he could refuse to meet with Potter. He was a professor and Draco's son was having trouble, apparently. There was no way out of that. 

Which was another thing; the message said that Scorpius was having trouble flying. Draco looked at the picture in his hands. It had been taken on Scorpius’ third birthday and it showed him sitting on a toy broom, levitating much higher than Draco had been truly comfortable with and darting around the lawn. His son had had a natural talent for flying since the day he’d taken his first steps and Draco had always hoped that maybe he’d end up playing Quidditch for England someday. It just didn’t make any sense that he was having 'trouble flying'.

“I’d always thought that your darling son was a whiz on a broom?” Pansy asked, sounding about as confused as Draco felt.

“He is, Pans.” Draco set the photo back down and braced himself for the worst. Something was coming, he just knew it.

“Then what-”

“I wish I knew.” Lost in his thoughts of what could possibly be wrong with his son, Draco completely forgot about Potter and the benefit. “Looks like I’m headed back to Hogwarts.”

“While you’re there,” Pansy snuck up behind him and wrapped her arms around Draco’s waist. Placing her chin on his shoulder, she whispered into his ear, “make sure to talk Potter into attending our little soiree.”

Draco jumped out of her embrace and spun around. “I’ll do no such thing!” And he wouldn’t. He absolutely would not, under any circumstances, ask Harry Potter to attend or speak at their ball. In fact, he hoped to make the meeting as short as possible. He didn’t think he could handle staying in the same room with Potter for very long.

“Yes, you will.” Pansy sat back down and fished another pork bun out of the box. “Potter has always been able to get under your very-pale skin. You’ll end up inviting him - even if you don’t mean to. Make sure to wear your silver cloak, the dark one with the black buckle. He won’t be able to resist you in it.”

“I am not-” What? Draco’s mind whirled; what was she implying? He felt himself tense up, worried about what she might say next…

“Save it, Draco.” Pansy waved the pork bun at him threateningly. “You may have hated him, but you’ve never been able to resist him, either. Not even when you thought you were straight. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Draco didn’t.

He’d never been able to resist Harry Potter. That was the problem.

“Maybe it’s time for you to do something about it.” Pansy picked up a menu and began scanning it, clearly done with the topic. But Draco couldn’t stop his mind from spinning. He’d never told her about…

Draco couldn’t deny being fascinated by him, or drawn to Potter when they were in school together, but it was never anything more than curiosity, jealousy or hate. At the time, he’d never once thought about Potter as anything other his greatest rival. It wasn’t until after the war had ended that things had shifted between them, that Draco had felt his loathing turn into something else, something he’d always kept to himself. Why, he wondered, would Pansy think that it had been more? He thought about asking her, but the second he opened his mouth, a dull pain began to throb in his right temple. It was a headache that he’d come to associate with Pansy as he only got it after their more heated conversations. If he was getting it before, then clearly it was a bad idea to broach the topic. 

“I guess I’ll be leaving early tomorrow.” No sooner had Draco spoken the words than he felt a huge knot form in his stomach.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

“Oi! Potter!” Oh, perfect, Pansy thought, as she caught sight of Potter, round glasses and messy black hair, walking towards her. She’d left work and headed straight towards Bacchanalia Parties to look at place settings for the ball. Too busy with his own obligations, Draco had asked her to pick them out, trusting her expertise in such things, and she’d said yes instantly. When they’d first starting planning, Pansy had managed to convince Draco to go with a red and silver color scheme since the ball would be in the winter, and she was hoping to find some glassware with silver flecks to complement the winter theme.

She’d been just about to walk into Bacchanalia when she’d spotted the familiar face belonging to Harry Potter. It was a wonder he was even able to walk down the street, she thought, looking as fit as he did. 

When she’d mentioned Potter to Draco earlier, he’d seemed so… _touchy_. She couldn’t understand it; their past wasn’t exactly a happy one, but still, there’d been something there, something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. In fact, it was something she’d been wondering about for a very long time. It was time she had some answers.

“Potter!” she called again, this time waving her arm as she did. There was absolutely no way he’d be able to ignore her now. Pansy waved again and started pushing her way towards him and through the small crowd that had gathered when she’d shouted his name.

Pansy heard an _ooof_ and an _owww_ and caught a few dirty looks directed her way, but ignored them all. The second she was close enough, she reached out and grabbed Potter by the arm, pulling him towards her. “We need to talk,” she said.

Potter didn’t protest, just said goodbye to his fans and stumbled along behind her. It wasn’t until they were tucked in an alley, empty save for a few rats, that he pulled his arm away from her. “What do you think you’re doing?” He looked at her and then really _looked_. “Pansy? You look-”

“Fantastic, I know. A late puberty treated me _very_ well.” If she hadn’t had her suspicions, she would have flirted with him a bit. But as it was, she knew better. Or, she thought she did, anyway. “What happened between you and Draco?”

“I’m sorry…?” Potter looked at her as if she was an extremely confusing and complex charm. It wasn’t a good look on him.

“Don’t play dumb. I know something happened between the two of you. Ages ago. What was it?” Impatient, and worried that she wouldn’t make it to Bacchanalia before it closed, Pansy crossed her arms over her chest. “Look, I know that Draco is supposed to meet with you tomorrow and he seems very upset about that. And you. More so than normal. I want to know why. What happened between the two of you?”

The look on his face had shifted from irritated, to insulted and finally settled right back where it had started – confused. “He never told you?”

Pansy gritted her teeth. “Obviously not.” _Why_ had he never told her, his best friend? Pansy’s heart ached a little that he’d kept something so important from him.

Potter nodded, looking like he was considering his words very carefully. “If he never told you, I don’t think that-”

“You will tell me,” Pansy said, seriously considering drawing her wand. “He needs to be happy and something is missing from his life. I want to know what it is. Is it you?”

Sighing deeply, Potter’s shoulders dropped. “Look, I’m not telling you everything.” He reached up and rumpled the hair at the back of his scalp. “I shouldn’t tell you-”

“Spill.” 

“We, umh…” Potter looked from right to left, as if checking for eavesdroppers. When all he found were the rats, he looked back at Pansy. “We had a, a _thing_ , before he got married. I thought that maybe we could…” He shrugged and shook his head. “Getting married was more important to him.”

“You loved him,” Pansy heard herself whisper. The rats stopped nosing through the trash and considered her with their beady little eyes and she wondered if one of them was an Animagus spy. 

Potter closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose below his glasses. “Pansy, I-”

“Merlin!” She exclaimed. “You still do.”

He didn’t deny it. There was no use.

“You have _got_ to do something!” Never in her life did Pansy think she’d be giving relationship advice to Harry Potter. But there she was, in a cold, dirty alley, trying to get him back together with her best friend. If she wasn’t so desperate, she’d have laughed at the situation.

“I don’t know what to do!” Now he seemed as desperate as her. “I’m supposed to meet with him tomorrow and I don’t know…”

“Just be yourself.” She considered whether not this was the right advice to give, which Potter seemed to catch onto, if the look on his face was any indication. “Don’t try and bring up the past. Just be the professor and treat him like any other parent.”

“So… You want me to totally ignore what happened between us? Pretend like we were never together?” Potter looked as if he thought this was the worst advice ever.

“Look, I know Draco. He’s scared,” Pansy thought about the look of dread on her best friend’s face. “For a lot of reasons. You need to be very slow with him. Give him time to come around. Knowing him, he’s probably come up with some stupid reason for why you can’t be together.” She rolled her eyes, but it was filled with affection. 

“I hope you’re right,” was all Potter said.

A few minutes later, Pansy was rushing out of the alley way and through the early evening crowds that seemed to fill Diagon Alley at night - families headed out for dinner, couples excited about the newest night spot, but not wanting to show up too early, they were all there. She pushed and squeezed, the heels of her impossibly-high shoes clacking on the cobblestones as she ran towards Bacchanalia. 

By the time she reached the party supply store, the sign was flipped to ‘closed’ and she could just make out the owner disappearing into the backroom. She swore and stomped her foot, wondering if she could make it back here _and_ to the printers before Draco made it in tomorrow. 

She was just about to Apparate home when she caught sight of a display in the window. There were three plates in varying sizes stacked on top of each other. They were made of the clearest glass and flecked with silver that sparkled even though there was no light for them to reflect. The pile was placed on top of a cranberry red place mat that was set with fine silver utensils, a matching red napkin folded to look like a phoenix and a tall sparkling goblet that had the same silver flecks as the plates. It was stunning. 

Satisfied, Pansy smiled and Apparated back to her flat.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Standing before the gates of Hogwarts the next afternoon, Draco gulped. He hadn’t been back since that terrible night when his world had exploded before his eyes. Others saw the Battle of Hogwarts as a victory, an occasion worth celebrating... and it was. But for Draco, it was night his childhood well and truly ended in a way that it hadn’t before. It went beyond half-hearted attempts to kill Dumbledore or being used as the Dark Lord’s puppet.

It was the night his eyes had opened as he’d watched his friend die just as Draco had been saved by the person he’d thought was his greatest enemy. 

It was the night he decided his parent’s beliefs had been completely wrong as he watched on in dumbfounded horror as bodies crumpled and fell all around him. 

It was the night that he’d sat huddled in the Great Hall with his parents, uncertain of his place among the heroes and villains. 

And it was the night that he promised to make something of himself and the Malfoy family name once again. 

Now, thirteen years later, he found himself standing outside the school gates, a father who’d been struggling to keep the promise he’d made to himself on that fateful night. A cool October breeze swirled around him, causing his soft blonde hair to flutter and tickle his cheek; Draco shivered and it had much less to do with the weather than with stepping into Hogwarts again. _Don’t be stupid_ , he told himself. _You’re an adult. A father. You can handle this._

As the large gates slowly opened before him, Draco felt his dread magnify tenfold. There was something wrong with his son. He was stepping back into Hogwarts. He was going to meet with Harry Potter for the first time in over ten years. Everything seemed to pile on Draco’s back and weigh him down, making his first step beyond the gates nearly impossible. 

The wind blew again, but this time, Draco didn’t allow himself to shiver. Instead, he thought of Pansy and the sheer force of nature she’d managed to become. Shaking back his hair and righting his shoulders, Draco forced himself forward, taking one step and then another. Before he knew it, he was standing before the great wooden doors that led to the entrance hall. It had been so long, he thought as he looked at the wooden entryway with its rich detailing. 

The longer he stared, the more confused he became. He’d been standing in front of the Hogwarts entrance for a few minutes and he’d yet to actually enter. In fact, he hadn’t even knocked. Draco took a step back and realized that he’d never stepped into the school as a visitor before. The door had always been open to him as a student. What was he supposed to do? Knock? Push the door open himself? Perform a complex series of spells in the hopes that he hit the right one? 

Draco opened his mouth and then closed it and he thought of something. Passwords. Hogwarts was very fond of passwords. Perhaps he needed a password to get into the school, just like one students needed to gain access to their common room? He dismissed the thought as soon as he’d had. The war may have ended years ago; the ramifications of it would still be felt within the school. The wards would be tight and entry wouldn’t be left up to chance. 

Feeling desperate, Draco said, “I’m here. Now what?” He hadn’t actually expected anything to happen, so when the doors parted, Draco took a couple of stumbling steps backwards. He looked for whoever had opened the doors and found his gaze drawn down by a squeaky voice.

“Master Malfoy.” A young-looking elf with bright, globe-like eyes looked up at him. But unlike the abject adoration he was used to see in a house elf’s gaze, this one looked cautious. “Professor Potter is waiting for you, sir. I is to be taking you to him, sir.” She blinked, and Malfoy was startled to see his reflection in her glassy eyes. “I is also instructed to tell you that I is given special privileges to use elf magic... Just in cases.”

Malfoy tried not to wonder just what those cases might be and what that particular magic might involve. Instead, he cleared his throat and said, “New school security measures?”

“Yes, sir.” She motioned him inside. “We elves has Miss Granger to thank for that. She has done so much for elf rights.” Her eyes shined brightly with large tears that were sure to fall soon. “We gets new aprons every day, fresh and clean.” She sniffled, showing Malfoy the meager garment she’d called an apron. It was a step up from what elves used to wear, but it was still a minimal apron-like sash with the Hogwarts crest on it. “We even gets to use special magics.”

Malfoy didn’t reply, couldn’t reply, as she ushered him in. As he stepped over the Hogwarts threshold for the first time in years, he felt his lungs constrict and his throat tighten. It was like all of the oxygen had been drained from the air. He was on the verge of gasping for breath when he felt a small hand tug at the bottom of his cloak.

“We is goin’ this way Master Malfoy, sir.” She pulled once more and he followed along. 

Rather than taking him outside, where he thought their meeting would be, Malfoy found that the elf was leading him down a corridor off the main entrance that led to a small office. Stopping outside the door, he suddenly felt silly for assuming that the flying instructor’s office would be outside on the pitch. After all, he’d gone to Hogwarts; he knew that Madam Hooch didn’t have an office outdoors. None of the teachers did, unless you counter Hagrid’s hut, which he did not.

He was just about to thank the elf for escorting him when she knocked twice on the door. Draco had just enough time to wonder if this level of escort was now standard procedure at Hogwarts. As a parent with a young son there, he liked it, but as a former student (and former Death Eater), it made him a little uncomfortable. “I’m sure that I can take it from here,” he said, but the elf would have none of it.

“No, master Malfoy. It is my job. I is to wait here until the professor is ready for you.” She nodded, as if that settled everything.

Malfoy didn’t argue.

She knocked again, two more crisp raps and waited. It didn’t take long until Malfoy heard a voice within callout, “You can come in!”

Instantly, Malfoy froze. That voice, though it had been over a decade since he’d heard it, was unmistakable. Only then, as a tidal wave of memories crashed over him, did he remember who he was there to see.

Harry Potter.

Draco took a sharp breath in as the door began opening before him. He watched it move, feeling like it was going in slow motion. _How_ , he thought, _how am I going to do this?_ Deep down, he knew that Pansy was right, that they’d both grown and changed. Petty childhood feuds had seemed so trivial in the days after the war, but Draco was quickly overcome with a fear that just maybe Potter wouldn’t feel the same way. Maybe Potter would look at him see a small, snivelling child, or a disgraced ex-servant of Voldemort. He’d worked long and hard to put both of things behind him, but Potter didn’t know that. 

Or maybe he did know, maybe he’d caught a glimpse of it when they’d been younger. Or maybe Potter had heard about him in the _Prophet_. 

Then there were those few weeks… 

How would Potter look at him after _that_.

Whatever they’d shared had been quick and fiery, neither coming up for air long enough to learn about the other. It had been so long ago. Those rushed days, too few, that had been fraught with decisions about table settings and party favors. Potter had been his only escape before Draco plunged himself into a life he didn’t really want.

The night Draco had broken it off, he’d put all thoughts of Potter out of his mind, all but forgetting about their time together. As far as Draco was concerned, it had been a passing fancy brought on by wedding jitters, and he locked the memories away. Tightly. 

He didn’t know why, after all these years, but Malfoy couldn’t deny that what Potter thought of him did matter.

He didn’t think he could bear it if he saw judgement or disdain in Harry’s bright green eyes. After everything he’d worked for, and everything he’d fought to make of himself, Draco hated to admit that his feelings of self-worth currently hung the shoulders of one person. A person he’d worked very hard to forget about.

“Is you coming, sir?” The elf’s voice, high and squeaky, pulled Draco from his thoughts. She was looking at him with a confused expression on her small face and Draco wondered how long he’d been lost in the past.

“Right. Yes. Sorry.” He nodded at her, letting her know that he was ready to enter the office. He wanted to pull of his glasses and massage the bridge of night nose, but he ignored the urge as she moved ahead of him.

She stepped into the office and Draco followed, swallowing down the hard lump that had taken up residence in his throat. Unconsciously, he adjusted the ornate black buckle of his cloak. He’d worn the dark silver traveling one, not because Pansy had told him to, but because it made him look distinguished and important. It was a small thing, but draping it over his shoulders before leaving for Hogwarts had made him feel better, more secure. 

Draco had looked into the hall mirror and had nodded in approval. His blonde hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail that hung just above his shoulders, and his skin was as clear and fair as ever. A year or two ago, Pansy had insisted he start a skin-care regimen that she’d found in a small beauty shop in Diagon Alley. He’d resisted, calling her ridiculous and vain, until he’d noticed his dark circles and the premature network of fine lines around his eyes. 

As he’d left his small flat, Draco had been happy with his appearance, but now, stepping into Potter’s office, he wished that he’d chosen a different ribbon to tie his hair back and that he’d gone with his plain black cloak. It was much less showy and made him feel more serious. Even his glasses suddenly felt like a burden. It didn’t matter now, he thought; it wasn’t like he had time to go home and change. And even as the thoughts ran though his mind, he chastised himself for once again being so worried about what Potter would think of him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Once again, Draco heard Potter before he saw him. This time though, rather than sounding exactly like he had when they’d last parted ways, Potter sounded muffled. 

Confused, Draco stepped around the door and was shocked to find Potter scrubbing his head with a towel. It covered his face and for that, Draco couldn’t have been happier, because the second his eyes landed on Potter, Draco felt every single muscle, bone and sinew in his body freeze up.

At the elf’s urging, Draco forced himself to take a few stilted steps forward, just enough for the door to close behind him. “I’ll be goin’ now, sir,” she said to Potter.

“Thanks, Minky.” Potter pulled the towel away and smiled at her. 

The grin was lopsided and ridiculous and even though he was thirteen years older, Malfoy couldn’t help but think that Potter looked younger than he ever had. His skin was richly tanned - from days on the pitch, no doubt - and his black hair was just as wild as ever, sticking up this way and that thanks to the towel. And his eyes… still so painfully green they looked like emeralds, and so brilliant even his glasses couldn’t hide them. 

When Potter turned to look at him, Draco expected to see Potter’s expression fall into a long-ago learned mask of disdain. Or to maybe see some reminder of their last night together. He didn’t expect the brilliant smile that crinkled the corners of Potter’s eyes and lit up his entire face, as though he was happy to see him after so long apart.

Harry Potter was exactly the same and yet completely different.

“Mr. Malfoy!” Potter hung the damp towel around his neck and stuck out his hand, like nothing had happened between them. Draco didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been that.

Draco couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow in question. He’d offered Potter his own hand at the beginning of their first year and had been rebuked. The pain of that had never totally gone away, not even when they’d been locked tightly together under the cover of darkness. Now here they were again, an outstretched hand waiting for acceptance. Draco knew that long ago he’d have made some snide and cutting remark and, for a moment, he wanted to revert to the child he’d been. But he’d come too far for that, so he reached out and clasped Potter’s hand firmly and shook. If Potter had noticed his hesitation, he didn’t show it. 

When Potter pulled away, Draco was left standing there for an extra moment or two, his hand still poised in the air. He felt like he’d been hit by a whirlwind. Potter was acting like nothing had happened between them, like they didn’t share a twisted past. Draco couldn’t understand why. He’d been so prepared for Potter to judge him or look down on him that he’d never once thought that, just maybe, Potter wouldn’t react that way at all.

Pansy had been right, a small voice whispered in his mind. Pansy had said as much, saying that maybe Potter had grown up just as much as he had. But Draco hadn’t believed her, hadn’t even entertained the notion that such a thing was possible. And now…

It was like the slate had been wiped clean, and Draco simply did not know how to react to that. 

Draco didn't think that maybe Potter had locked their past away just as strictly as he had. Truth be told, he’d never have thought him capable of it. It took a level of emotional control that Harry Potter simply didn’t possess.

“Sorry about the wait.” Potter stepped behind the desk in the office. It was covered in scrolls and broomstick-servicing items such as little pots of polish and tail-twig clippers. Draco couldn’t help but think that it looked like a Quidditch catalog had exploded everywhere. “And about…” He gestured towards the mess on his desk and then himself. He was dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and a Hogwarts t-shirt that was splotched with wet marks, like he’d just taken a quick shower. “This. Classes ran long and time got away from me.” He looked up at Malfoy and smiled apologetically.

“No, no,” Draco heard himself mutter. “I didn’t wait long at all.” 

“Good. And Minky took care of you?” Potter sat and offered the seat across from him to Draco. Draco took it and sat gingerly, horribly uncomfortable about the whole situation. If Potter had acted like his old self, Draco could have dealt with him. He’d have squared his shoulders and presented himself as the reformed aristocrat that he was. But this Potter? A Potter who didn’t seem to care at all about their past? It threw him completely off guard. 

“Mmm, yes.” Draco wracked his brain, trying to remember something he’d been thinking earlier. “The elves greeting visitors and threatening them with magic. Is that something new?”

Potter pushed a few scrolls out of the way, as if searching for something. When he looked up at Draco, his round glasses had slid to the end of his nose. As he pushed them back up, Draco wondered if they were the same ones he’d been wearing at Hogwarts; he couldn’t help but fidget with the arm of his own as he thought it. “Yes,” Potter said, “And we have Hermione to thank for it, the system was all her idea. She thought the elves would appreciate having more responsibilities and rights. And as it turns out, they do.” Potter chuckled a bit, looking as if he were caught up in some memory that Draco wasn’t a part of. “It took a _lot_ of effort on her part, but it’s been a great addition to the protective wards and enchantments.”

Draco nodded, but something still bothered him about the situation. “And their dress? Surely Granger would have wanted them to have a better uniform?”

“She tried. She managed three different options, some of which even resembled clothes.” He shrugged. “They picked the barest ones. Even Hermione had to admit that she couldn’t win them all.” 

At a loss for words, Draco nodded. For a moment or two they sat in silence, neither seeming to know what to say to the other. Draco’s mind whirled as he studied the person across from him. He looked like Potter, but he didn’t act like him… at all. Draco couldn’t help but feel confused. He’d expected… well, he’d expected to be confronted by the same kid who’d spoken for him at the trials, or the guy he’d shared a bed with, not this man who seemed a million miles away from the hero the Wizarding world expected him to be. It was unnerving, to say the least. 

When the quiet became too much, Draco opened his mouth to say something, though he hadn’t really decided on what that something might actually be. Potter, however, beat him to it.

“Well,” Potter cleared his throat right before Draco was about to say something stupid, and Draco sighed in relief. “Let’s see,” he unrolled the scroll he’d been searching for earlier and quickly scanned it. Draco could just make out Potter’s chicken scratch as the scroll rolled itself back up and landed on the cluttered desk. It was no wonder he couldn’t find anything, Draco thought, before thinking of just how messy the tiny table in his own office was. He made a quick mental note to clean it off as soon as he got back to work. “Like I said in my owl, Scorpius is having trouble flying. He hasn’t even gotten his broom off the ground.” Draco felt his eyebrows creeping up his forehead. It had been hard enough to believe in letter form. But hearing the words straight from Potter’s mouth… “Not once. And as this is the beginning of October and we’ve been at this for a month now, it’s really becoming a problem.”

Draco swallowed and nodded. It was all he could do at the moment. 

“I’ve tried to-”

“Master Professor Potter Sir!” Minky burst into the office, her small body trembling, as if she’d just run a very long distance. _Well,_ Malfoy thought, _looks like the elves haven’t been given the ability to Apparate within the school._

At the intrusion, Potter’s messy head whipped up, his bright eyes wide and alert. For the first time since Draco had walked into the office, Potter looked the fierce kid he’d been in the war and the one who’d clung to him when Draco told him they had to break it off. 

“You must be comin’ with me, sir!” The little elf took a few steps forward and reached out her hands, like she expected Potter to take them. “There is being an emergency! An emergency on the pitch! We must be goin’ now!”

Potter didn’t say anything, just jumped up and dashed around the table. He had one foot out the door before he turned back. “I’m sorry, umh…” He paused, and for the first time since their meeting had begun, seemed unsure of himself. “Mr. Malfoy. I’ll have to reschedule. I’ll send you an owl, ok?” 

Thoroughly confused by the turn of events, Draco opened his mouth slowly, but no sound came out. Before he could say anything, even that that was fine, Potter was gone. Draco stared at the door, which was still hanging open. He could hear Potter’s footsteps growing fainter as he ran down the hall and, he assumed, out onto the Quidditch pitch. 

For a solid two minutes, Draco sat there wondering what in the name of Merlin had just happened.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

“Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Ooooh… you _did_ wear your silver cloak. I bet he found you irresistible.” Draco didn’t have one foot in the door before Pansy was on him. She made a show of taking his cloak and smoothing it out, but he knew what she was really doing. Or, for that matter, what she wasn’t. Because Pansy was doing everything _but_ grabbing his arm, dragging him inside and tying him to a chair so that she could spell the story out of him. All in all, he was quite proud of her self-control. That, however, didn’t mean that he enjoyed being accosted at the door.

“Pansy!” He yelled and she stopped smoothing out his cloak and looked at him, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in question. The room fell blissfully silent and Draco was able to finish stepping over the threshold. 

She waited all of ten seconds before saying, “Well?”

“I…” Draco pulled the ribbon out of his hair and mussed it up as he tried to think of what to tell her.

“It went that badly?” Pansy quickly hung up his cloak before standing in front of him, her face a mask of worry and confusion. It was like she’d been expecting something completely different.

“What?” Draco tried to step around her, but she wouldn’t let him.

“Your hair. You only mess your hair up like that when you’re under a lot of stress.” She started fussing with the silvery-blonde locks of his hair, smoothing it out and tucking it behind his ears. 

“Would you-” Draco quickly batted her hands away, hating the fact that she was right. He normally preferred that his hair, just past chin length, always be pulled back neatly and tied with a small ribbon. The only time he let it loose was when he was at home, alone, or very agitated. This was one of those times.

Pansy held up her hands in surrender, but continued to watch him, expectation all over her round face.

In an effort to stall for time and gather his thoughts, Draco moved to the small table they ate lunch at and began to straighten it up. All of papers on it were important and needed to be there, but they didn’t need to be such a mess. He’d realized that as he’d watched Potter rifling through scrolls and notes in his office. Draco gathered up all of the catering menus and put them in a neat pile before attacking the leaflets featuring different floral arrangements. He was just about start on the venue guides when Pansy took him by the shoulders and spun his around.

“Draco. Darling.” Pansy looked completely serious now, all traces of humor gone. “Tell me what happened. Now.” It _wasn’t_ a request. 

“I don’t know,” Draco heard himself say. He squirmed a little as Pansy’s grip on his shoulders tightened. She looked like she was about to burst.

“What do you mean,” she took a moment to smooth out the crisp black sleeves of his button down shirt. “You _don’t know_? You were there in the office with Potter, were you not? Surely you must have _some_ idea of what happened in that time.”

“I wish that I did.” Draco returned to the table, scooping up a few useless bits of parchment and chucking them in the bin. He felt exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go home, but he and Pansy had another three hours of work before either could retire for the night. Planning a large event, it turned out, made for _many_ late nights. “It was just so…surreal.”

Rather than push for more details, Pansy sat down at the table Draco was cleaning and stared at him. She didn’t lift a finger to help, but for once, that didn’t bother Draco. He was happy to have something to keep his hands busy. She stared at the table, lost in thoughts that Draco couldn’t begin to read.

“First, it was weird to be back at Hogwarts, especially with all of the changes. An elf greeted me at the front doors and escorted me to Potter’s office! Would you believe that?” Draco chucked a flyer for a band that he and Pansy had both deemed to awful to play their event. “And then Potter…” Draco trailed off as he got lost in thoughts of Potter, shower-fresh and so perfectly suited to be behind a professor’s desk. “It was like he was a completely different person, yet the same. But not.” 

Pansy snorted and Draco shot her a look. She had the good grace to look apologetic for a whole two seconds.

“I’d expected… I don’t know what I’d expected, but it certainly hadn’t been that.” Draco tossed another flyer and a menu from a takeout place that had recently closed. He didn’t mention how handsome Potter had looked, or how his heart had ached at the sight of him.

“I know what you expected,” Pansy placed her hand on Draco’s arm, causing him to look at her. She looked strangely serious. “You expected him to be the same terrible kid you remember from Hogwarts. You expected him to treat you like the ex-Death Eater you are.” Draco cringed and she tightened her grip. “I told you’d he probably changed. If you ask me, it sounds like he wants the past to stay in the past. Just like I said.”

Draco pulled away gently and sat down in the chair opposite her. “I just don’t understand, Pans.”

“That’s because you’re too worried about what other people think of you, Draco.” Pansy smiled and rifled through the stack of catering menus while Draco pondered what she’d said.

He couldn’t deny that she was right, he _was_ always worried about people’s perceptions of him. He’d struggled, fought and clawed his way out of the hole that had become synonymous with the Malfoy family name and now he couldn’t bear the idea that people still associated him (and his son) with it. And with Potter that worry had been hit with an Engorgio charm so potent that his fear had become as large as Hogwarts itself. Draco felt sick at the realization. 

Looking up at Pansy, he could tell that she was waiting for him to work through his thoughts. Her dark eyes were scanning the menu, but he could tell that she wasn’t taking any of it in. After all, it was her favorite little Italian place from around the corner; she knew the menu by wicked heart. He had a quick and random thought that perhaps they ought to keep a few magazines lying around so that she would have something more convincing to stare at when she wanted to ignore him.

“I am such a prat,” Draco finally whispered. 

“I could have told you that.” Pansy flipped the menu over to the desserts.

“You have told me that.” Draco slumped in his chair, wondering when he’d become so self-conscious about what others thought of him. A tiny, traitorous voice inside of him whispered that he’d always been that way. Draco ignored it.

“I’m thinking…. pumpkin ravioli. It’s so festive.” She caught Draco’s eye and grinned seductively. “And it reminds me so much of Hogwarts!”

Draco shot her a dirty look and she snickered in delight. 

“You’ll have the same?”

At the mention of dinner, Draco’s stomach rumbled angrily.

“And an extra side of garlic bread, I take it!” Pansy didn’t wait for him to protest before walking over to the fireplace to Floo in their order. By the time she was done, Draco had finished organizing the table and had even managed to clear space enough for them to eat comfortably. “Not that I don’t like the initiative, dear, but why did you decide that today was a good time to attack this table?”

“Potter’s desk,” Draco blurted out. “It was a mess.”

Pansy’s face stretched into a wide, knowing smile. “And there he is… The Draco Malfoy who always let Potter get under his skin. It’s good to have you back, love.”

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

The second that Draco left the office that night, Pansy grabbed her quill and a piece of pale pink parchment from her desk. Still standing, she bent over to scribble a quick note: _Potter, Draco seems more confused than ever. Whatever you’re doing… keep it up. Kisses, P._ After dropping the letter off at the Owl Post, Pansy made her way to the florist. There was a new shipment of exotic flowers in from Australia that she was dying to look at for the ball, not to mention the cute receptionist that she loved flirting with. Someday she would convince him to take her out.

Or maybe, she thought, she’d get him to take out someone else…

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

A few days later, another Hogwarts owl showed up at the office. Pansy and Draco had narrowed down their catering choices to two and were trying to decide which. Draco liked the idea of going with the Leaky Cauldron because there was nothing more quintessentially Diagon Alley wizard than that. He thought the idea of going with something so familiar, comforting and local, would touch the patrons who’d supported Hope For Heroes over the past ten years.

Pansy, however, didn’t agree. She wanted to go with a very posh Thai fusion restaurant that was located in the heart of Muggle London. The food was _very_ good and even though it was in the Muggle portion of the city, it was wizard-run and operated, but it was just… Maybe it wasn’t so much what it _was_ , but what it _wasn’t_. It didn’t possess the same charm and warmth as the Leaky Cauldron, it didn’t call to mind memories of shopping for school supplies or a late night on the town. 

He tried explaining this to Pansy, but she’d laughed and accused him of getting sentimental in his old age. To which he’d pointed out that they were the same age and that if he was old, _she_ was old, which just led them around and around and around. 

It if hadn’t been for the owl tapping at the window, the spat might have lasted all afternoon. As it was, they’d already wasted half an hour on whether or not Pansy was starting to look “tired.” (She wasn’t, but Draco was upset and knew it was a weak point for her, so he’d exaggerated a bit.) The second he heard the tapping, Draco bounded out of his seat and to the window, he didn’t care what the letter said, he just wanted out of the row. 

Unlike before, the owl was in and out in two minutes, the scroll easily freed. Draco unrolled it and began to read. He was shocked that Pansy hadn’t followed him and snatched it away, but she was still at the table, arms crossed over her chest in irritation. More irritated than he’d thought, he realized.

Pushing thoughts of her aside, Draco read the scroll. Potter wanted to meet again, which Draco had expected. He read on, his eyebrows rising, “Potter wants to meet _tonight_.”

 _That_ seemed to get her attention. Pansy unfurled her arms and played with her hair. She’d worn it long and loose today, with a hint of curl. She acted like she was going to pull it back into a ponytail, even though they both knew she wouldn’t. Why she bothered with the show, Draco would never know. “I’m sorry, darling, but you can’t meet with dear Potter tonight.”

“I beg your pardon?” He watched as she dropped her head back, eyes closed. 

“No need to beg. Simply asking would be fine.” She opened one eye to look at him. “You simply cannot meet with Potter tonight as you have a date.”

The scroll snapped shut as all of Draco’s attention went to Pansy. “Last time I checked, I was free this evening, Pansy.”

“Check again!” She sang.

Draco didn’t dive for his date book; instead he stared at her, his eyes wide and his mouth going dry. “What have you done?” His heart began to beat painfully in his chest as he waited for her to answer.

Pansy finally stopped playing with her hair and let it fall back over her shoulders in a raven wave. “What you haven’t for _many_ years, Draco. I’ve found a man willing to go out on a date with you.”

“But I don’t want a date!” Ok… so maybe that wasn’t strictly true. Draco had technically been single since Scorpius was little. That’s not to say that he hadn’t gone out with anyone or had a couple of flings in the meantime. But no one had felt right to him. Having a son meant that he couldn’t just think of himself and who he wanted; he had to think of who would be right for Scorpius, too. And so far, there had yet to be a single person who fit that bill. “I am perfectly fine single.”

“Oh, who are you trying to kid?” Pansy was pure exasperation now. “You’ve gotten old, Draco! You are the oldest thirty-year old I know.” She stood up and put her hands on his shoulders. Draco knew that she meant it as a kindness, to soften the blow of whatever she was about to say. “The moment your son was born you became an old man.” 

Draco tilted his head, ready to defend himself.

“Don’t even try to deny it.” She paused, waiting to see if Draco was going to try and interrupt again. He didn’t. “You’ve been carrying this weight on your shoulders for so long that it’s worn you down. I understand you have a child to care for, but that’s no excuse to ignore yourself. I just want you to be happy. You might not know it, but you’re lonely. And that makes me sad. I want you to be happy again, darling.”

He dropped his eyes to the floor. He did know it. Had known it for a long time. 

As he thought about it, he realized that he’d been lonely since the second he’d said, “I do.”

“I’m not saying you need to rush into anything, just try having a drink with someone, ok?” Pansy lifted his chin with his fingers, trapping his gaze. “Ok? For me?”

Draco just nodded. There was nothing else he could do. “But I still need to take this meeting. It’s about Scorpius.”

“Fine,” she sighed dramatically. “I guess that I can push the time of your date back a bit. Now that that’s settled…”

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Draco arrived at Hogwarts ten minutes early. Pansy had spent the past forty-five minutes primping, combing, moisturizing and plucking him and he now felt like an abused pin cushion. Even his mother, the epitome of pure-blood grace and elegance, had never forced him to endure such a routine. He’d just managed to escape Pansy’s clutches before she forced him back into his silver cloak. Despite all of her complaints that it didn’t match, Draco managed to slip into his plain black one, showing her that it matched his dark grey trousers and black sweater perfectly. He looked, if he did say so himself, quite handsome. (Even if his skin was still a bit tingly from Pansy’s ministrations.)

When the doors opened, Draco offered Minky, still in her skimpy uniform despite the chilly fall weather, a tiny bow. She hastily greeted him and once again led him to Potter’s office. Now that the shock of being back at Hogwarts had worn off, he was able to look around as they made their short journey. The portraits, all expertly repaired from what he could tell, still lined the staircases and the suits of armor in the hallways nodded their greetings. At first, Malfoy thought that it seemed like nothing had changed. But then he noticed small things, like two young Gryffindors and a Slytherin happily chatting about the upcoming Halloween feast and how they planned on sitting next to each other.

The changes were slight, but they were there.

Just enough to make him realize that this was no longer _his_ Hogwarts.

While it made him sad to think that the school had changed, Draco was also happy to claim his memories of his time there as his own. The students roaming the halls around him would never know what it was like to go to school there when he did. They wouldn’t understand the freedom of not having guard elves everywhere or what it was like to be able to sneak off at night to duel with Harry Potter. All of his memories might not have been good ones, but they were still precious to him.

“Malfoy!” Draco registered that Potter had dropped the “mister” and found that he was happy about it. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the familiarity between them and now he wished that Potter would refer to him by his given name, at least once. 

“Come on in,” Potter gestured him into the office, and only then did Draco realize that Minky was no longer in sight. Today, Potter was dressed in worn-looking Muggle jeans and a Weird Sisters t-shirt that had clearly seen better days. In fact, Draco was pretty sure that he’d seen that shirt lying on his floor before. He looked clean and fresh again, and like he was about to head out to meet friends for a pint, but Draco could still make out the commanding air of _professor_ that he seemed to wear like a cloak. “I’m sorry about the other day.” He walked around the desk and offered Draco his hand again. This time, Draco didn’t hesitate to shake it, enjoying the familiar feel of Potter’s skin against his.

Draco paused, like he was trying to remember something. “A Quidditch emergency, was it?” He knew that that was exactly what it had been.

Potter laughed, a wonderfully familiar sound, and situated himself behind his desk while Draco took the one in front. “The school brooms… you remember.”

He did. He also remembered having a world-class racing broom that meant he hadn’t had to deal with the shoddy school ones after first year. The perks of being a Malfoy before the war. “Yes, of course.”

“Some of the third years thought it would funny to take them out and charm them. Well, the brooms took over and attacked the students. Took me, a few elves and a couple of the other professors to round them up and charm them back into submission. It was a nightmare, to be honest.”

Draco tried very hard not to laugh at the thought of Potter chasing down rogue brooms as he waved his wand in the air. “Was anyone hurt?”

“A few scrapes and bruises and loads of splinters. Nothing life-threatening.” Potter chuckled, and Draco couldn’t help doing the same. “But those brooms are rubbish. Beyond rubbish. I’ve been petitioning the board for months, trying to get some new ones. They don’t have to be top-of-the-line, just flyable.” 

“And they haven’t approved your request?” Draco’s father had served on the board of trustees for Hogwarts for years and he’d often heard him talking about professors requesting this or that. At the time, it hadn’t mattered to Draco because he knew that his father with always supply him with whatever he needed. But now, as a parent, it bothered Draco to hear that school equipment was lacking and the board wasn’t doing anything to rectify the situation.

“No, there’s always something more important that comes first.” Potter shook his head and Draco could tell that he was frustrated about the situation. “Ah well, perhaps this will change their minds.”

“Hopefully,” was all Draco said.

“Let’s see now,” Much like the other day, Potter rifled through the scrolls cluttering his desk, but this time he found the one he was looking for much more quickly. “As I said before, Scorpius has yet to even get his broom off the ground. We’re a month into term and it’s becoming a problem.” Draco noticed that Potter didn’t even bother to read the scroll he’d just been searching for; much like Pansy and her menus, he seemed to be stalling for some reason. After a few long minutes, he laid it back on his desk as if it didn’t matter. “I have to say… I’m really shocked that he’s having problems flying. You were such a natural in our first year; I thought he’d be the same.”

Draco had two very distinct thoughts in the space of about two seconds. The first was that he agreed, Scorpius was a natural. The second was that Potter had thought _him_ a great flyer when they’d been in school together. The two fought for dominance in his mind, but in the end, the first won out. “I must admit, when I received your owl I was shocked. Scorpius has always shown a natural talent for flying.” Draco wished now that he’d brought the baby picture off of his desk. He’d wanted to, but Pansy had threatened to hex him if he did. That was why she was the cool aunt, Draco guessed - because she didn’t carry around random baby pictures than no one else cared about. “He’s never had any problems before now.”

Potter pressed his lips together and nodded. “I figured as much.”

Inside, Draco glowed knowing Potter had figured his son would be excellent with a broomstick. It was high praise coming from someone so known for their Quidditch skills, and it made Draco’s heart swell with pride.

“I’ve given him a few private lessons in the evening, but nothing seems to be helping. Do you have any idea what the problem might be?”

“I really haven’t the slightest idea, to be quite frank. Shoddy brooms?” Draco cursed himself mentally for the slight. Things had been going relatively well and he didn’t want to screw it up now. He waited with baited breath for Potter to respond.

Potter nodded a bit and then shrugged. “It’s possible, I guess.”

Draco sighed a bit in relief. This was definitely not the hot-headed Potter he’d grown up with or the damaged man from before. He kind of liked it, though he would never admit that out loud.

“Well….” Potter sighed deeply, as if he couldn’t think of what to say next. Draco couldn’t blame him; he wasn’t exactly coming up with pearls of wisdom, either. “Like I said, I’ve been giving him private lessons in the evening once a week. The next is on Friday. Perhaps you could observe? Maybe you’ll spot something I haven’t. This really is a first for me.”

Draco nodded, wondering why Scorpius hadn’t mentioned any of this in his weekly owls. Issues flying and private tutoring were certainly more important than the Chocolate Frog cards he normally wrote home about. “Yes, of course,” Draco heard himself say, even though he was still lost in thought. “What time should I stop by?”

“Around, oh-” With a small _pop_ an older-looking elf appeared next to Potter’s desk, a silver tray with a domed cover in his hands. The elf wore the same uniform as the other, but with the addition of a small tea-cozy/sock combination on his head. Draco raised his eyebrows at Potter, who nodded his head as he pressed his lips together in amusement. They look clearly said, ‘I’ll tell you as soon as he leaves. Just don’t laugh.”

Draco snorted and Potter pressed his lips together even more tightly. Their shared amusement threatened to undo them both.

“Dinner is being served now, Professor sir.” The elf whipped the cover off of the tray with a flourish. “Beef stew with garlic mashed potatoes, just as you had requested, sir.” He offered the tray up to Potter, who took it carefully. “Is that being all?”

“Thank you,” Potter quickly murmured as he placed the tray on the desk in front of him. He didn’t even look at it before his emerald gaze fell on Draco. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized the time… Would you like to eat dinner with me?” He looked so hopeful that it made Draco’s heart hurt. “We,” at this, the elf bowed deeply, “can get you-”

“No.” The word came out before Draco had a chance to even consider it. What was happening? Potter was offering him dinner? Not just dinner from the Hogwarts kitchens, which smelled _incredible_ and was making his mouth water profusely, but dinner with _him_? It didn’t make any sense. 

Potter’s face fell just a bit and Draco kicked himself mentally. That, too, was strange, he thought. It was almost as though Potter had been hoping he’d say yes. But he couldn’t. He just… _couldn’t._ He scrambled for an excuse, trying to find a way to cover for his reaction. “I have a date tonight. I’m sorry.”

Potter nodded, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he thanked the elf again, who disappeared with another _pop_. This time, the noise seemed loud enough to fill the entire office.

“Well, I,” Feeling a bit uncomfortable, Draco stood up quickly. He needed to get out of the office and away from Potter, now. “Best be off. Mustn’t keep,” he struggled to think of the name of the person Pansy had set him up with, but came up empty, “my date waiting.” It sounded like an escape route, even to him. 

“Oh.” Draco thought Potter sounded a little disappointed when he said that. He then realized that that couldn’t be possible. There was no way that Harry Potter would be upset that Draco had a date. They’d been over for a very long time. Long enough for them both to have moved on. And even then it had only been a fling… Hadn’t it? Potter stood up, his tray forgotten, and walked around the side of the table, his hands tucked deeply in his pockets. “Maybe some other time.”

It wasn’t a question. Just one of those vague statements that people tend to make, but never really mean, so Draco said ok, not thinking any more of it. Before Potter had a chance to say anything else, or even take another step, Draco made his way to the door and pulled it open. He was feeling painfully uncomfortable now and wanted out of the confines of Potter’s office. In fact, Draco wanted to get away from Potter altogether. He didn’t know why, but every last nerve in his body was urging him to flee. 

Now. 

It took all of his will power not to do exactly that.

“Like I said,” Potter followed him towards the office door, placing one hand on the edge. Not blocking Draco’s escape, but leaning on the door, like he owned it. “Scorpius’ next private lesson is Friday. I’ll see you then?”

Draco swallowed, wishing he could swallow his nerves with it. “Yes, of course. Scorpius.” 

“Yeah, Scorpius,” Potter echoed. 

That _yeah_ , Draco thought, it was the first normal, or, familiar, thing he’d heard come out of Potter’s mouth. It was strangely comforting. “Owl me the time?”

“I will,” Potter promised, with a small nod. “It was…” Potter looked at him, his bright eyes searching for something and Draco tried not to squirm. “It was good seeing you again.” 

There was so much sincerity in the words that Draco found himself believing Potter actually meant them. He wanted to return the sincerity, but he couldn’t make his mouth form the words. All he was able to get out was, “Thanks. Must be off now. Date.”

“Yeah, right.” Potter slid his arm down the doorway and put his hand back in his pocket. “Have a nice night, Mr. Malfoy.” Draco felt his heart clench at the return of the “mister” before his name.

Draco tried not to grimace at the thought of his impending blind date. “I’ll try,” was all he said. Potter chuckled and so did Draco. “Don’t let your dinner get cold.” He regretted saying it even as the words were tumbling out of his mouth. He sounded like he was talking to a child.

“Don’t worry, I won’t. Murksly would have my head if I did.” Potter smiled; it was small and soft, the edges of his lips just barely turning up, but it was there. Draco couldn’t help but think it was wonderful.

His gut clenched painfully as he realized what he’d just thought. 

Before either of them could say another word, Draco uttered a hasty goodbye and all but ran out of the door. As he made his way down the hallway, he swore he could feel Potter watching him. It took every last drop of self-control he possessed to keep himself from looking back.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Dinner temporarily forgotten, Potter pulled Pansy’s letter out of the side drawer of his desk, where he’d tucked it the other day. He’d never replied to it, but he didn’t think she really expected him to, so he didn’t feel guilty. But after what he’d just been told, he _had_ to say something. Quill in hand, he quickly scribbled a short message that read, _Pansy, He’s going on a date? I don’t know much longer I can pretend like nothing happened. H.P._ Harry stared at it, wondering if there was anything else he should add. When he couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound stupid, he summoned Murksly, who fetched an owl for him.

After chiding him for letting his dinner get cold, the elf Disappeared with a _pop_. Harry didn’t take a bite until the message was sent on its way.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

A quick check with Pansy revealed that Draco’s blind-date for the night was named Todd and that he was expecting Draco at The Whispering Cauldron, a small club hidden away in Diagon Alley. It was cozy, and Pansy knew Draco liked the privacy it offered. He (mentally) thanked her for at least considering that when she’d set the date.

Todd, average height and average build with average brown hair and average brown eyes, was kind and gentle. He was a decent talker and Draco had an easy time keeping up a steady conversation with him over dinner. Draco had tried to throw him off - to see if was all a show - by mentioning his family’s history. Much to his surprise, Todd passed the test, barely even blinking at the revelation (which probably wasn’t that much of a revelation after all).

But as pleasant as the date had been, Draco hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Potter and his stupid crooked smile all night.

Even as he drifted off to sleep, much later than he should have, he saw it in his mind.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

“Todd said that he enjoyed dinner last night.” Pansy smiled at him hopefully over her mug. Steaming tendrils curled out of it and she inhaled contentedly. “Said he’d love to see you again.”

“I…” Draco sighed, wondering why he was drawing it out, “don’t think so.”

“What?” All traces of serenity quickly left Pansy’s face. “What do you mean, _you don’t think so_. He’s a great match for you!”

This time, Draco really did take his time to consider his answer. The date had gone well enough, but… “I didn’t feel anything for him. I’m sorry.” He didn’t mention Potter’s smile. It was bad enough that he’d spent his date, the first he’d had in a very long time, thinking about Harry Potter. He certainly didn’t need Pansy to know about it, as well.

“It was a first date. With a stranger. Of course you didn’t feel anything.” Pansy set her mug down on the table of the café they’d stopped at for lunch. Draco could tell that she was having a hard time containing herself. “That’s what _second_ dates are for. And _third_ dates.”

“I know how dating works, thank you very much.” It was Draco’s turn to set his mug down. “I know it’s been a while, but-”

“It’s been ages, Draco. Ages. I don’t understand-”

“No, you don’t. And as I recall, we’ve been through this before.” Draco hissed through his teeth, but he noticed that he’d still managed to attract the attention of the couple at the next table. “You are free to date and sleep with whomever you please. You have no one you’re responsible for. It’s not the same when you’ve got a child.”

Pansy rolled her eyes dramatically. “Have you ever thought that just maybe you’re using Scorpius as an excuse to stay single and miserable?” She stared at him, waiting for an answer, as if this was a completely reasonable question.

Draco’s mouth fell open in undignified shock. How could she possibly insinuate something so, so…

“Don’t try and deny it.” Pansy tapped a long purple-and-silver painted nail on the worn wooden table top. “You’ve had plenty of opportunities over the years and there’s always some excuse. And those excuses generally revolve around Scorpius.”

Draco tried to respond, to say something, _anything_ , but the words refused to come.

“Scorpius is too young. He wouldn’t understand. Scorpius wouldn’t get along with him. He doesn’t want kids yet. Should I go on?” Pansy rolled her eyes dramatically, certain that she’d made her point. “I’m sorry, darling, but it’s the truth. Your son is now away at school. It’s time for you to start building your life back up a bit. Take care of _you_ for once.” 

He knew that she was trying to be helpful and supportive, but Draco couldn’t help but hate her just a little bit for her speech. “If you ever have kids-”

“Oh, I have no intention of ever being saddled with a bunch of little monsters,” she said without a trace of feeling. It was clear that she meant it. It was also clear that she didn’t see anything wrong with what she’d just said.

Draco stared at her. He’d always known that Pansy wasn’t a fan of children, but to hear her put it like that… 

“Don’t get me wrong,” she waved a hand dismissively. “I adore your Scorpius, but beyond him, I can’t stand children.” She took a quick sip of her tea, which was no longer steaming hot. “But that is beside the point.”

“Which is,” Draco heard himself hiss.

“That you need to get a life beyond your son and your charity. And on that note, you have a date Saturday night. Don’t be late.”

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Forcing himself to remain calm, Draco left the café where he and Pansy had stopped for lunch, making sure to walk in the opposite direction of her. Originally, they’d planned on grabbing a bite to eat and then heading over to the florist to check out possible flower displays before stopping by Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour together. Florean’s wife had graciously offered to donate an ice cream bar for the charity ball as a thank you for all that Hope for Heroes had done for her after the war.

Too upset to spend any more time in Pansy’s presence, he’d suggested they split up, as it was getting late in the day and Draco needed to be done in time to meet with Potter. (Pansy had snickered and rolled her eyes and Draco had clenched his teeth to keep from saying anything he might regret.) Draco had told Pansy to take care of the flowers since she knew more about them than he did, and Draco took Fortescue’s, as he’d developed a relationship with the widow over the years. 

Draco followed the cobblestone path, not really watching where he was heading. He knew that he would get there eventually. All around him, the shops were bustling with late afternoon shoppers who had bags hung over their arms filled with anything and everything Diagon Alley had to offer. Draco smiled as a young boy and his father came out of Quality Quidditch Supplies, a look of delight on his small face at the toy broom he had clutched in his tiny fists. 

Draco couldn’t help but smile at the sight, remembering a similar look of glee on Scorpius’ own face. Just as he felt the smile tug at his lips, Draco felt it slide off. Scorpius. What was his problem? He’d always been an adept flyer, even when Draco would have rather he hadn’t been. It didn’t make any sense that he was having troubles now. Was he homesick? Was it really a matter of poor brooms used in class? As he passed the Quidditch shop, Draco found himself lost in thoughts about his son.

Scorpius had been so excited about heading off to Hogwarts for the first time. They’d spent the day in Diagon Alley picking out all of his new books and robes and other supplies and then they’d had lunch before heading over to Fortescue’s. It had been wonderful. And on September first, Scorpius had been a bundle of energy on the platform before boarding the Hogwarts Express for the first time. It was Draco who’d had to hold back his emotions as the scarlet steam engine whisked his only child away. 

In the time since, Draco had sent his son care packages and Scorpius had written a multitude of letters filled with the typical babbling of an excited eleven-year old. He liked all of his classes (except Charms) and he’d made friends (Rumli seemed to be a favorite) and he was delighted at being sorted into Slytherin (just like his father). But never once had there been a single mention of any issues with his flying. Draco hadn’t even received an owl about bad behavior. It just didn’t make any sense. 

On top of that, Potter, _Harry Potter_ had been giving him private lessons. That, Draco would have thought, should have rated a mention in one of Scorpius’ missives. The fact that he needed tutoring in something should have been at the very top of the parchment and the fact that it was with Professor Potter should have come right after. 

And why had Potter even offered? Yes, as a professor, it was his job to help his students succeed. But surely he could have assigned one of the older students to help Scorpius after class. There had to be more than a few students eager for some extra credit or extra house points. Private flying lessons seemed beneath a professor. Unless Scorpius really was _that_ bad, he thought, which brought Draco’s mind back to the beginning with a resounding, what was going on?

Preoccupied with his thoughts, Draco barely noticed when he pulled open the door to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour. If it hadn’t been for Pistachio Fortescue pulling him into a bone-crushing hug, he might not have even noticed until his mind finished cycling through its current round of thought.

“Draco, love!” Pistachio pulled back, but kept a hold of Draco’s shoulders. He tried not to gasp for air. “It’s been too long. You look tired. Have you been eating? Sleeping? How is your sweet little boy?” She said it all in a single breath, but somehow managed not to appear winded afterward. Draco would never understand how she did it.

Searching for where to begin with her questions, Draco laughed a bit, before speaking. “Yes, I’ve been eating, and I look tired because I _am_ tired.” He really, really was. Planning the ball and dealing with Pansy, Potter and Scorpius had worn him out. “I’ve had a lot on my plate lately.” Pistachio nodded as if she understood completely. She was a short woman with hair that was now more grey than brown. Her face was lined with age and grief, but there was also a copious amount of love in the deep wrinkles. She looked exactly like Draco imagined grandmothers should, and because of that, Draco couldn’t help but love and trust her. “And Scorpius is having issues at school. Flying lessons! My son cannot fly.”

“But I always thought… I’ve seen him on a broom…” Pistachio stammered, sounding just as confused as Draco.

“Yes. Exactly.” Draco sagged and she pulled him in for another quick hug. He didn’t have a chance to return it, but it made him feel better just the same. “Then there’s Pansy,” Draco tried to stop himself, but once Pistachio got him going, Draco couldn’t seem to be able to shut up. “She keeps trying to set me up on dates and-”

Pistachio gasped loudly and Draco was horrified to see her face lit up like fairy lights on a Christmas tree. 

Draco groaned and closed his eyes. _Why_ couldn’t he have kept that part to himself? Pistachio had been pushing him to date for as long as Pansy and now she knew. He knew that she would be next, trying to find random men for him to go out with, whether they had anything in common or not.

“Draco! That’s wonderful! Have you met anyone? Have you gone on any dates?” She just barely managed not to bounce on the tips of her toes.

In for a Knut, in a for a Galleon, he supposed. “I’ve gone on one date.” Still looking painfully happy, Pistachio led them to a private table at the back of the shop, motioning for one of the young servers to fill in for her. They sat down and she leaned forward, eager to absorb every least detail. “But it wasn’t anything special. He was nice enough, but I didn’t feel any…”

“Magic?” She said and laughed.

Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes. But she had a point, there hadn’t been any magic. Nothing that had made Draco excited about seeing him again. “Nope, not even a little spark.” He sighed. He hadn’t felt a thing for Ted. Or was it Tad? He didn’t even remember. All he could really remember about that night was thinking about Potter’s little half-smile. 

“What are you thinking about, dear?” Pistachio searched his face, as if there was an important bit of information hidden there. Which, there was. “You seem so lost in thought over there.”

He may have let the information that he was dating slip, but he was _not_ about to mention Potter. Or his face. And what it did when he kinda smiled, but didn’t fully. Whatever he’d had with Harry was buried in the past, and it needed to stay there. Though he found himself wondering more and more about what exactly he _had_ felt for Potter back then. Draco decided to settle on half of the truth. “I’m thinking about Scorpius and his flying problem. I’ve been meeting with his professor, who doesn’t seem to understand it either.” Pistachio nodded, not letting on whether or not she knew _who_ the flying instructor at Hogwarts was. 

“He’s even been giving Scorpius private tutoring after school. Himself. In fact, I’m supposed to meet with him tonight to observe one of the sessions.” Draco thought about the owl he’d received that morning. This time, thankfully, it had arrived at his flat, rather than the office. He didn’t think he could handle Pansy going on and on about another owl from Potter. He was just glad she seemed to have dropped the idea of asking Potter to be the guest speaker at the charity ball.

In the message, Potter had told Draco to meet him in his office at six. The lesson would be about forty-five minutes long, that way they’d all be free in time for dinner. There was nothing else to it, no personal message of any sort. Potter hadn’t even bothered to really sign it, just quickly scribbling a scratchy H. at the end. If it hadn’t been for the Hogwarts crest and the fact that Draco had been expecting the missive, he might not have known who it was from. 

After reading over the owl, Draco had spent the rest of his morning trying not to obsess over the meeting with Potter. His mind seemed to be a war – one half worried about Scorpius, the other confused about Potter. Why, Draco had asked himself many times as he’d gotten dressed, was he so worked up over Potter? It wasn’t like they shared some sordid past. Well… they did. But not in the romantic sense, or even in the platonic sense for that matter. They’d slept together for a few weeks. It had been great, but Draco didn’t think it had been anything more than two people needing a physical release and finding it in one another. (He wasn’t so sure about that now, though, if he was completely honest with himself.) They were old school rivals who’d gone through some pretty traumatic events together. And it had been so long since they’d seen each other that they were essentially strangers. They didn’t really even count as acquaintances any more, as far as Draco was concerned. 

But the few times they’d met, Draco had felt so… He’d felt a lot of things, most of them bad. But Potter had seemed so relaxed and calm, like the past didn’t matter. It had been so strange to sit with him and talk like two normal people, rather than two squabbling children out for blood. 

Draco had changed his outfit three times in a fit of irritation.

He was irritated at Scorpius. 

He was irritated at Pansy.

He was irritated at Potter.

But mostly, he was irritated at himself for acting like a complete fool about meeting with Potter.

He tried to tell himself that people crossed paths with old schoolmates and exes all the time and that it meant nothing. But there was a tiny little voice in his head that kept whispering that this was different and that it did, indeed, mean something. 

Draco had left his flat wearing dark dress trousers and a sweater that he’d hoped matched. Pansy hadn’t seemed overly impressed by the combination, which had upset him more. Now he was sitting with Pistachio, wearing Merlin-only-knew-what and trying to convince himself that he wasn’t anxious about seeing Potter again - and that his nerves were simply due to Scorpius having trouble in what should have been his easiest class.

“Perhaps Scorpius is just having trouble adjusting to being away from home.” Pistachio smiled at him gently and placed her hand over his. It was warm and smooth, comforting without asking anything in return. “It has just been the two of you since…”

“True.” Draco looked away from her for a moment, watching as a small boy licked all of the fudge off of his sundae. “This is our first time apart.” His heart clenched as he watched the boy smile at his dad around a large bite of ice cream. Draco had always known it would be hard to send his son off to Hogwarts for the first time, he’d just never truly anticipated _how_ hard. It was like half of him, the best half, had been ripped away. “It has been a very stressful couple of months.”

“See,” she squeezed his hand, causing Draco to turn back to look at her. “It’s a large period of adjustment. Just give him time.”

“And me? What do I need?” Draco half-joked.

“Oh, dear. I’m sure that is a very long list. But I think you should start with some ice cream.” Pistachio waved her hand at a server who was passing by. The girl returned barely two seconds later with a large tray of samples, absolutely everything Draco could possibly imagine. “I do believe you came here for a tasting, Mr. Malfoy?

Draco laughed and grabbed a spoon. Some days, ice cream really did make things better.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

“Oh, he makes me so angry some days.” Pansy stomped her foot in a useless effort to relieve some of the tension that had taken root during her lunch with Draco. She loved him, she really did, but it seemed like all they did was fight now, and she couldn’t figure out why. Was it simply stress over the ball? Or was it because Draco was unhappy and looking for someone to take it out on? Or, and this she hated to wonder, was it all her fault? Was she somehow bringing out the worst in the both of them? Pansy didn’t want to believe that the fights were all her fault, but she couldn’t deny that they both much quicker to anger than normal.

She would try, she promised herself, to be calmer and deal with Draco differently. But somehow she knew this would be a very hard promise to keep.

“Oi! You!” Pansy’s head snapped around at the sound of Potter’s voice. He was striding towards her, down the very same alley they’d met in the other day, a crumpled sheet of pink parchment in hand. He didn’t even wait until they were face-to-face to start talking. “Draco is dating?” 

Pansy rolled her eyes. After the lunch she’d had, she wasn’t up for this. Even if she had asked Potter to meet her, she didn’t want to get in yet _another_ row. “Yes, Potter. He’s dating. But not because he wants to, I assure you. I set him up on a blind date.”

“You… _what_?” Potter looked at her, his face twisted in confusion and anger. “Why would you? I thought that-”

“Oh, relax.” Pansy wanted to stomp her foot again, but figured that that would only send Potter into some kind of frenzy, so she settled for tapping her toes impatiently instead. “It’s been a _very_ long time since he’s been out with anyone. I just wanted to get him reacquainted with the idea of dating.” She didn’t mention the part where she also wanted Draco to meet some other men, just in case her little gamble with Potter didn’t pay off. “I figured it might be a good idea to get him back on the broom, so to speak.”

Potter didn’t look like he believed her. She couldn’t blame him. “And this?” he said, holding up the parchment crumbled up in his hand. “You’ve set him up _again_?”

“Yes, well, that was rather unintentional.” She thought back to the day before, when she’d run into an old school friend. “I ran into Draco’s ex.” Potter’s eyebrows arched in question, but she ignored him. “Things ended pretty badly, but he seemed really excited about the thought of seeing Draco again.” Pansy shrugged.

“So you decided to play matchmaker?” Potter shot at her, but she could hear the truth behind the question.

“No, I decided to act like an adult and do something nice for my best friend. If you remember correctly, you never told me the whole story about what happened between the two of you. So pardon me if I’m not hanging all of Draco’s happiness on your shoulders.”

He seemed to think for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I told you, it’s not my place.”

“Oh, spare me, Potter.” Pansy rolled her eyes as dramatically as she possibly could. “You were there. You have your own side of the story to tell.”

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “My side only.” Potter looked for all of the world like he’d rather be telling this to the rats scurrying about the dumpster than to her. “It was right after the trials and I’d just broken things off with Ginny and I was pretty… out of it. I ran into Draco after his hearing had ended - I wanted to talk to him about it. We ended up getting lunch at the Leaky Cauldron and then we got a room. That’s that.”

Pansy felt her heart racing as she thought back to the time around Draco’s trial. She’d begged him to hold off on the wedding until after, but he’d insisted it happen as quickly as possible. He’d been in a very dark place, and at one point, she’d wondered if he’d make it out. But then something had changed, as if overnight. Could it have been Potter? “Oh, no it’s not.” She took a step closer, only just stopping herself from reaching out and grabbing the front of his Hogwarts cloak. “You fell in love with him. How?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Potter looked at her as if she belonged in St. Mungo’s, but she didn’t care. She needed to know. And when she didn’t respond, she figured Potter must have understood that. “Well, like I told you before, it was only a few weeks, but… He, uh, he was amazing. Smart, determined, funny when he wanted to be. And so strong.” Pansy arched an eyebrow pointedly. “Not like that. Just, I could tell that he wouldn’t let the world beat him. It was… I wanted to be that way.”

“But you’re Harry Potter,” she couldn’t stop herself. “You’ve always been like that.”

“Not then I wasn’t.” Potter shrugged and Pansy could see the scars behind the movement, scars that ran deeper than the physical ones. For the first time she wondered what kind of toll the war had taken on Harry Potter. “He made me feel… He just made me feel again.”

“Did he love you?” Pansy gasped the words, desperate to know. 

“Told you, you were only getting my side of the story.” Potter took a step away from her, clearly trying to make an escape. “The lunch hour is almost over. I have to get back to school.”

“Potter, _please_ ,” she said, taking a step towards him, trying to fill the gap. “From your side of the story, did he love you?”

“I don’t know.” Potter looked at the ground and kicked a small rock that sent the rats scurrying under the dumpster. When he looked back up, his eyes were dark. “I like to think so. Even if he didn’t realize it at the time.” 

“Potter-”

He didn’t wait to hear what else she had to say, Apparating back to Hogwarts before she could utter another syllable. 

When Pansy realized that he was gone, she stomped her foot again, this time breaking off her sparkly blue heel.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

A couple of hours later, Draco found himself standing outside Potter’s office once again. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on the handles of the paper bag that Pistachio had sent him away with. Draco was no less nervous now than he’d been the first time he’d been standing in that same exact spot, but these nerves felt different. Less ready for a confrontation and more ready for…

What?

What exactly was he really ready for? To see his son, of course. To see Potter? He didn’t dare think what the answer to that particular question might be. Instead, he raised his hand and knocked at the door, feeling his heart pound in rhythm. A passing elf, one he’d yet to meet, gave him a weary glance, and Draco couldn’t stop himself from saying, “he’s expecting me.” The elf didn’t respond.

Draco was shooting the elf a dirty look when Potter opened the door. “Is there something wrong?” He stuck his head out and Draco jumped at the nearness of him. “What are you looking at?”

“Just…” Draco’s mind spun as tried to think of an excuse. “Nothing, never mind.”

Harry looked confused, but didn’t push. “Ok, well…” He stepped back and invited Draco into his office.

Draco didn’t move. He didn’t know why, but he felt suddenly nervous about being alone with Potter in the confines of his office. It was stupid, he told himself. He hadn’t felt that way the other times he’d come by the school. So why today? “I thought we were going out to the pitch?”

“Well, yes, of course. But I wanted to have a quick word before Scorpius sees you.” Potter looked at him like he expected another protest. 

Draco tried to think of something, but failed. “Alright.” Walking into the office, Draco became acutely aware of Potter behind him; he was close enough that Draco could feel his warmth as he shut the door. 

“Now,” Potter moved away from him and Draco sighed in relief. “I haven’t told Scorpius you’re going to be here tonight and I don’t want him to know until after the lesson. That way he won’t feel pressured because his dad is watching, you know?”

It made sense; Scorpius would act differently if he knew that his father was there. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, Draco didn’t know. He hoped that his son hadn’t become some hooligan in his month at Hogwarts. Scorpius had never been an angel, but on the whole, he was a good kid. “Right,” Draco heard himself say, as he considered how his son might have changed.

“Just one more thing…” Potter moved back towards the door and out of sight. 

Draco was too busy thinking about Scorpius to wonder what the other man might be doing, so when Potter appeared in front of him, Hogwarts cloak in hand, he was a bit confused. “What is that for? I’m already wearing a cloak.” And he was; a beautiful emerald green one that Pansy had given him for his birthday. He didn’t wear it very often, it was really more a dress piece, but it had seemed like a good idea to pull it out that morning. Now, he was regretting it. It was just so… ostentatious. Draco fidgeted a bit under the weight of the fabric, wishing that he’d worn his plain black cloak. Again.

“Yes,” Potter looked at him like he’d lost his mind, “but don’t you think that Scorpius might recognize that one? It is rather,” he paused, searching for the right word and Draco fidgeted again, “distinct.”

That was one way of putting it, Draco thought. “Right. Of course.” Draco shrugged out of his heavy green cloak, feeling suddenly exposed without it. When Potter held out his hand for it, Draco handed it to him, feeling shocked that he would take it himself. Draco tried not to feel ridiculous for thinking that, but he couldn’t help it. Never in a million years did he think that Harry Potter would be that gentle with anything he owned, not after the way things had ended between them. 

After he’d taken the cloak, Potter held out his other hand for the bag that Pistachio had sent along with him. Draco shook his head and pulled the bag more tightly to him. It was a surprise for his son and he wanted to be able to present him with it once the lesson was done. Potter just shrugged, seemingly unconcerned about what was in the bag. 

As Potter hung up his emerald cloak, Draco pulled on the plain black one that Potter had given him, setting the larger bag at his feet as he did so. The fabric slid over his shoulders comfortably and Draco assumed that they were about the same size. They’d always been matched in height, but Potter had put on some muscle over the years. Draco stuck his hand in the pockets, running his fingertips over the material, imaging what Potter might keep there. It was soft and worn with age, much like the rest of Potter’s wardrobe and that made Draco smile. Potter had always been shabby at school with his too-large hand-me-downs, and it seemed that with the exception of size, nothing had changed. It was comforting to know that something was still the same about Harry Potter.

“Let me just…” Before Draco could protest, Potter was in front of him and reaching out for Draco’s face. Draco froze, unsure of what was happening. He watched Potter, stared into his jewel-bright eyes as he pulled up the cloak’s hood and framed it carefully around his narrow face. It was such an intimate act that Draco found himself holding his breath as Potter considered him. “There,” he whispered. “Now you’re properly disguised.”

 _Like I don’t recognize you,_ Draco thought. Who was this new Potter standing before? This Potter who hung up his cloak and adjusted his hood for him. If Draco had known any better, he’d have thought that Potter…

No.

He wasn’t about let himself think that maybe, just _maybe_ Potter was trying to flirt with him after all these years. Potter may have seemed like a different person, but that just wasn’t possible. Draco wasn’t about to set himself up for rejection by entertaining the idea, even for a second, that Potter might have any sort of feelings towards him anymore.

But still…

The way Potter looked at him, his fingers still lingering on the edges of the hood, a tiny part of Draco wished that things could be different. The man standing before him was attractive and kind and he seemed to like kids. He was everything that Draco was looking for now. Why couldn’t he have realized then that he was looking for...

Looking? 

Draco’s eyes widened in shock as he realized what he’d just thought. He was looking for someone. It wasn’t that Pansy was forcing him to go on random dates, but rather that he, himself, was _looking_. When had that happened, he wondered? And why were those thoughts making themselves known now, with Potter staring at him so intently?

“What?” Potter pulled his hands back, like he’d been stung. “I just thought that Scorpius might recognize your hair. This way, he won’t see it. Even from far away.”

“No. I. Yes.” Draco shook his head a little, trying to clear his thoughts. “Quite right. Thank you.” He swallowed, or he tried to anyway, his throat had suddenly gone dry.

Still looking stunned, Potter glanced at his wristwatch. “I think we should get out there now. He’ll be there soon.”

Draco nodded and said, “Alright,” the hood slipping a bit over his eyes. Potter looked as if he wanted to smile and adjust it, but at the last minute, he seemed to change his mind. Draco couldn’t stop the twinge of disappointment as Potter backed away from him. 

“Let me just get my broom…” As Potter grabbed him broom from where it was propped by his desk, Draco realized that he was watching the other man. He moved smoothly, clearly still as fit as he’d been in school, if not more so. Dressed once again in old jeans and a t-shirt, Draco could see the lines of his body, the muscles moving and twisting beneath his tanned skin. Potter was long and lean, and even though he was much taller than he’d been at eleven, Draco could still see that perfect seeker build within his muscles and movements. He was beautiful to watch, like pure action and power in motion. Potter was, quite simply, stunning, no longer than gangly young man he’d spent a few weeks with. Draco hated himself for noticing, but really, there was no way he couldn’t have. Not really. 

“Shall we?” Potter looked at him, broom in hand. 

“Won’t you get cold?” Draco blamed the fact that he was a father for that popping in his head. He felt the tips of his cheek bones burning with what was sure to be a very unflattering flush. “It’s just… Draco’s brained screamed at him to shut up, to abort the mission and save himself, but he couldn’t. “It’s chilly out and you’re wearing a t-shirt.” His cheeks burned hotter still and Draco used the excuse of bending over to retrieve his bag as a way to hide it. 

Potter chuckled. “But _daaaad_ … I don’t need a cloak!” Rolling his eyes, Potter placed his hand on the small of Draco’s back and steered him towards the door. “I’ll be fine. I always work up a sweat when I’m flying.”

Draco felt his feet moving, but his brain refused to believe what was happening. Had Potter just mocked him? And was that really his hand, warm and solid, pressing into his back? It felt so familiar, even through the heavy cloak, and Draco wanted to lean into the touch, to let it seep into every last curve of his body. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like this, and now that someone was, Draco yearned for as much of it as he could possibly get. He felt like a starving man who would do anything for the smallest sip of water or bite of bread. The pain of it made his throat constrict painfully and all he could do was follow along wherever Potter led him and hope that he didn’t let go anytime soon.

As they walked back towards the main entrance, Potter left his hand on the small of Draco’s back, slinging his broom over his shoulder. He seemed so comfortable, like it was completely natural for them to be walking the halls of Hogwarts together, like old friends. Or even, possibly, new friends. 

Draco still found himself unable to speak, but Potter didn’t seem to mind. He spoke to students as they passed, asking them how their classes were, or smiling at the quick jokes they told him. For the most part, the students ignored Draco, clearly enamored with Professor Potter, and for that, Draco was happy. It was weird enough being back in Hogwarts without having students or professors looking at him as if they _knew_ who he was. Also, it gave Draco an interesting view of who Potter had become within the walls of Hogwarts. 

He was clearly well liked, that much was obvious. And the older students, girls mostly (but not all), had noticed how attractive Potter was. They would smile shyly as they passed, occasionally giggly or saying hello in a breathy whisper. The younger students looked up at Potter with an awe bordering on reverence that made Draco snort in amusement, something he hadn’t done in a _very_ long time. Unfortunately, the noise caught Potter’s attention and he turned to look at him, a knowing smile on his face. Draco almost expected an elbow to the ribs, and he wasn’t disappointed. Hand still lingering on his lower back, Potter shoved him forward a little bit, laughing as he did so. Before he knew it, Draco was laughing even as he tripped over his own feet a little. 

He hadn’t felt so light and free in years. 

Not since the last time they’d been together, in fact.

As they fell into step again, Draco wondered if Pansy had been right. Had he really gotten old before his time? Draco felt himself tense up, and as his back straightened painfully, he wondered if Potter had felt the change.

He did.

“Everything ok?” Potter’s eyes were concerned and it made Draco’s stomach clench.

“Yes. Just a bit overwhelmed,” Draco didn’t even believe himself. How would Potter? How could he possibly explain the realization he was having? How could he put into words that he didn’t want to be the old man he’d become, that he wanted to feel relaxed and comfortable again. And if he couldn’t put that into words, he certainly wouldn’t be able to explain how nice it felt to have Potter be the one there with him.

Potter nodded, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to, though; his face was a mix of confusion and turmoil. When they stepped outside, Potter pulled his hand away, shoving it deep in his pocket instead. He didn’t do it quickly, but it was obvious that something had shifted. The ease of the touch was gone and Draco noticed that Potter wasn’t walking as closely to him now. He suddenly felt bereft, like he’d lost something dearly important to him. 

Draco wanted to reach out, pull Potter’s hand out of his pocket and slide back around him; his fingers even twitched in anticipation of it. But he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ do that. They were just… well, they weren’t really anything anymore. They weren’t even friends, to be totally honest. What excuse would he be able to give for such an intimate action? And the more he thought about it, Draco couldn’t help but wonder why Potter had even left his hand there for so long. He could see a gentle touch in passing, but Potter had consciously kept the connection between them, like it was the easiest and most natural thing in the world. Draco didn’t touch anyone for that long unless they were important to him, and Potter didn’t currently fall under that category. With each step they took outside, Draco felt his thoughts tangle up more and more. 

Like most of his romantic entanglements, they hadn’t parted on easy terms. Draco could remember, with painful clarity, Potter asking him to call off the wedding, to stay with him. But Draco had told him no - that his name and family were more important than some midnight romp. He’d hated himself the minute the words were out of his mouth. It was only then, as he saw the hurt in Potter’s eyes, that he realized they weren’t just sleeping together to blow off steam, that a deeper connection had started to form between them. But the damage had been done, and Draco had left Potter alone in their normal room at the Leaky Cauldron.

He’d never allowed himself to wonder if things would have ended differently if he’d gone back that night. 

And now, too much time had passed for Draco to even imagine opening that old wound again. It just wasn’t possible for them anymore.

The cool October air whipped around them as they walked around the castle and made their way to the pitch. Draco pulled the cloak tightly around himself, trying to keep out a chill that had nothing to do with the fall weather. Things had been so easy between them before, but now it was like they were standing on opposite sides of a cliff and Draco was desperately trying to come up with a way to cross it. How, in the few short visits they’d shared, had Potter made such a deep impression on him again? It was ridiculous, Draco thought, then corrected himself. _I am ridiculous. A total and complete blighter._

Potter, broom still over his shoulder, just walked along, his focus on the pitch looming before them. Draco decided that, for now, it might be best to do the same: just focus on where they were going and why they were going there. After all, this wasn’t a social call; Draco was there to see what was going on with his son. Draco wondered how he’d lost sight of something so important. Any other time, Scorpius was his sole focus. How had Potter managed to shift his attention with merely a hand to his back? Instantly he thought of Pansy and Pistachio, not to mention his own revelations about _looking_. " _You are looking in the wrong place, Draco Malfoy,_ ” he thought. Was he really so desperate for attention and affection that he was willing to latch himself onto Harry Potter at the slightest touch?

Feeling irritated with himself, Draco shoved away his feelings, locking them far away from Harry Potter. If he was going to find someone, it wasn’t going to be out of desperation. And it certainly wasn’t going to be Harry Potter. Was he even into blokes, Draco wondered. Last he’d heard, Potter and Ginny Weasley had gotten back together and been the toast of the wizarding world. Granted, that had been years ago, and thanks to Scorpius he was pretty sure that she’d married a Quidditch commentator, but still, she wasn’t a man. But that hadn’t mattered to Potter before, he reminded himself.

Then and there, Draco decided that he would get through the lesson and spend some time with his son after. Come tomorrow night, Draco would show up for his next blind date with newly opened eyes. All he had to do was get past the next hour. It was as simple. 

Right?

“When we get inside, I’d like for you to sit up in the stands, so that Scorpius can’t see you.” Potter looked over at him, his face serious. He was back in Professor Mode now and Draco was glad for it. “I’m going to tell him that you’re an old friend who came to visit and ask if it’s ok if you watch the lesson. Afterwards, I’ll call you down so we can all talk.”

If Potter could so easily slip back into professor mode, then Draco could just as easily revert to parent mode. It was much easier than trying to be anything else. “And what are you expecting to happen during the lesson?” He adjusted his grip on the twisted handles of the bag, feeling his knuckles flex and tighten.

“Not much, to be totally honest.” Potter stopped and ushered Draco before him as they walked through the archway that led to the pitch. 

Draco nodded, wondering what exactly he was doing there if Potter didn’t expect anything to happen. Couldn’t they have just met in Potter’s office? “Why do you want me to watch a lesson, then?”

Potter seemed to consider the question before answering. “I thought that maybe, if you saw him, the way he was acting or moving, you might be able to pick up on something that I haven’t.”

Draco hated to admit it, but Potter was right. Who better to read a child’s body language and mannerisms than his parent? “Alright. Where shall I sit?” He looked around the pitch, surprised by how familiar it looked. After the war, so much of Hogwarts had had to be rebuilt that he thought it would never look the same. He’d been shocked when he’d walked into the castle only to see that with a few exceptions, everything was as he remembered it. The Quidditch pitch was no exception. The banners representing the houses were a little brighter and things looked like they’d recently been given a fresh coat of paint. Otherwise, though, Draco felt like he’d just walked onto the pitch to play a match. Slytherin versus Gryffindor, perhaps?

“Well, Scorpius and I usually meet right down there,” Potter pointed out the lowest corner bench of the Hufflepuff section. It was right next to the entrance and Draco assumed that it was easier to meet there rather than in the middle of the pitch or in the Slytherin section. They would both be able to drop their things and then head out towards the center to kick off their lesson. “So in that area, about half-way up, should be good.”

“Should I head up there now?” Draco waited while Potter checked his watch. The cool air slid around Draco’s neck, making him shiver. 

“You should tighten the cloak. It’s going to be even colder up there.” Potter tried to smile, but only ended up looking more nervous than anything. “Too bad you don’t have your house scarf.” He laughed a little and Draco watched him, wondering if he was trying to be clever or if he was referencing their past. Both options came with their own reactions and feelings, and Draco hoped that Potter was just going for a laugh. When Draco didn’t respond, Potter sighed softly and nodded. “Yeah, you can go up there now. I’ll wave to you when you can come over.”

“Ok.” Feeling strangely self-conscious, Draco turned to go, but changed his mind at the last second. “Thank you…” He trailed off as he looked into Harry’s bright green eyes, as vivid and alive as ever. “For this. For putting so much time into helping with Scorpius.”

Potter shrugged as if it were nothing at all. “I’m a professor. He was having trouble. Of course I’d help him.” He was so sincere that Draco could practically feel it in his stomach.

Draco didn’t say anything else, just nodded before finally making his way up the steps, his bag bouncing against his knee as he moved. He didn’t know what Potter was doing - if he was still watching him or if he’d gone to do something else - and he didn’t care. At least, that’s what he told himself. 

When Scorpius walked onto the pitch a few minutes later, Draco was seated high enough in the stands that his son’s face was a blur, even with his glasses. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he recognized Scorpius’ bouncing gait and silver hair, Draco wouldn’t have been able to tell him apart from any other young boy around his height and weight. It felt strange to be watching Scorpius from above, to not be down near him and talking with him. The loneliness he’d been feeling for the past month seemed to double even though his son was so close.

Draco felt his throat tighten up as Potter pointed up at him. Scorpius looked and Draco had to clench his hands to keep from waving. He was supposed to be a friend of Potter’s, not Scorpius’ father, it would seem strange if he waved at the boy. But he couldn’t help the pounding of his heart or the desire to jump up and run to him.

When Potter had finished his explanation, he and Scorpius walked a little ways onto the pitch, where there was more room. Draco hadn’t noticed before, but there was a broom lying in the grass for Scorpius to practice with. Potter had his own over his shoulder once again, but when they stopped moving, he laid it out on the ground next to the one that Scorpius was going to be practicing with.

He watched in anticipation as Potter stuck his hand out above his broom and it sprung up to meet his grasp instantly. He gestured towards Scorpius, who mirrored Potter, hand out above the broom. Draco waited, unconsciously holding his breath, for Scorpius’ broom to spring up as quickly and easily as his own hand back in first year. 

But nothing happened.

Scorpius dropped his hand in defeat before sticking it out again, this time with more force. And again, Draco waited, this time making sure to take slow, even breaths. Once again, nothing happened. Draco’s eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown as he watched his son. Potter took hold of Scorpius’ wrist and together they tried to will the broom into action. But even with Harry Potter, youngest Seeker in a century, there to help him, the broom still refused to so much as quiver in the grass. 

When Scorpius’ arm fell in defeat and his shoulders slumped, Draco could barely stay in his seat. He wanted to jump up and run down the steps to his son. But he had to wait until Potter called him down. When Potter finally waved and motioned for him to join them on the grass, Draco didn’t bother to stop himself from doing just that. 

Bag in hand, he took the steps two at a time until his foot met grass, the bag from Florean Fortescue’s bouncing against his knee with every step. As Draco strode across the pitch, he felt the hood of Potter’s cloak slip off his head, revealing his long blonde hair and fair skin. The second Scorpius caught sight of him, he stood up perfectly straight.

An obvious sign of guilt.

“Dad,” he said, his voice nervous as he watched his father stride towards him.

Sitting on the bleachers, Draco had felt for his son and wanted nothing more than to help him. But now… After what he’d just seen, Draco knew that something was wrong and that he wasn’t going to be happy about it. When they were barely ten feet apart, Draco said, “Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Potter smirk. Any other time, that smirk would have irritated him, but not right now. “What is the meaning of this?” Draco demanded by way of greeting.

“I… uh.” Scorpius, small and slight, had grown a bit since Draco had last seen him and his hair was a little longer, but he was still the young boy that Draco remembered. “Er…”

“Hmmm?” Draco wanted to cross his arms over his chest, a habit he’d developed whenever he’d been about to scold his son. For some reason it made him feel larger and more in control. But with Pistachio’s bag still in hand, he couldn’t. Not unless he wanted to set it down first, which would easily ruin the effect of it. So Draco stood, one hand clasping the handles of the bag, the other jammed deeply in the pocket of Potter’s cloak. “I didn’t catch that.” He could just make out Potter looking at the ground, arms crossed over his own chest, that smirk still on his face. “Care to repeat your explanation?”

“Er…” Was all Scorpius said. Again. But this time, he dropped his gaze to the ground before pressing his lips together. Another sign of guilt, Draco thought.

“Broom.” Draco may not have been about to cross his arms over his chest, but he could stand up even straighter than his son. His father had drilled proper posture into from the day he was born. Only as he’d gotten older and distanced himself from the family horrors had he felt his stance shift to something more relaxed. But standing there, in front of his son, it quickly came back to him. As he stood taller, Scorpius shrank just a little bit, his eyes opening wide. _“Now.”_

Without so much as a _yes, sir_ , Scorpius scrambled back towards the school broom that Potter laid out for him. He looked at Draco, not even glancing at Potter, waiting for instruction. 

“Hand out.” Draco couldn’t help but echo Potter’s instruction. He had a pretty clear idea of what was going on, but he wanted to make sure first. Just in case. “Up.” Even though Potter wasn’t looking at him, Draco caught a slight glimpse of him finally raising his head from where he’d been staring at the ground. Draco wanted to look over at him, to try and read whatever expression was on his face, but he was too angry with Scorpius to look away. And he had the sickening feeling that he was about to end up feeling embarrassed as well. 

Scorpius stuck out his hand, but only just enough so that it hovered in the air over the broom, which began to twitch instantly. After a very long pause, Scorpius mumbled a very feeble, “up.” If it hadn’t been for the broom springing up into his hand as if it belonged there, Draco might have sworn that his little voice had been nothing more than a trick of the wind.

Draco’s mouth tightened into a hard line as he watched the broom. He stared at his son, unable to bear the thought of Potter watching him. He didn’t think he’d ever been as disappointed in Scorpius as he was in that moment. 

He felt a heated blush spread from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. “Take a lap.” Scorpius, wisely, did as he was told, throwing one leg over the broom and kicking off of the ground to soar high into the air. Draco didn’t watch him fly around the pitch; he didn’t even turn his gaze from the spot that Scorpius had just kicked off from. He could just make out Potter moving and he guessed that he was watching Scorpius circle the pitch. Potter didn’t say a word and Draco thanked whoever was listening for small miracles.

When Scorpius touched back down a few minutes later, Draco took a very long, very deep breath before saying, “Explain yourself. _Now_.” Draco finally turned his head, just enough to look at his son, whose face was a mask of fear and worry. The broom was still clutched in his small hands, like he thought it could protect him from whatever was about to happen. Small chance.

“I…” Scorpius’ pale blue eyes, so like his mother’s, flickered from Draco to Potter to Draco, like he was looking for a way out. “Er…”

 _“Now,”_ Draco repeated, his voice low and firm.

“They dared me!” Scorpius’ eyes were wide and pleading. Draco had seen this look on his face a few times before and it was always when Scorpius was feeling guiltiest. “I… I… I…” Once again his gaze shifted between Draco and Potter.

“Who dared you?” Draco asked. When it came to his son, it was best to ask very direct and specific questions if you wanted a completely honest answer.

Unlike Draco’s slow flush, Scorpius’ face burned red instantly, another trait from his mother’s side of the family. “Some of the other kids in my dorm. They didn-”

Draco cut him off before he could go off on a tangent that would derail them from the point. “What was the dare?” He lifted his chin, letting his son know that there was no way out of the questioning. Potter stayed silent, but he was watching Scorpius with the curiosity of a professor finally getting to the root of a problem.

“They,” Scorpius dropped his head and mumbled, “They dared me I couldn’t get Professor Potter to give me special treatment. I told them I could.” He kept his eyes glued on the ground, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the broom handle.

For what felt like an eternity, no one spoke. Scorpius was staring at the ground and Potter was shaking his head in what Draco could only guess was amusement. Draco, however, was livid. He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, trying to contain himself. “What you are telling me is that you have wasted your Professor's time, risked your grade and lied about your flying capabilities all for the sake of a dorm room bet.” Scorpius dropped his head a little further. “And before you even think about opening your mouth, _do not_ say _er_ or _um_.”

“Yes, sir,” Scorpius mumbled, his shoulders hunched. He said nothing else.

Draco finally turned his attention to Potter, who was looking at him, eyebrows raised. “Professor,” he chose the title on purpose, “I would like for my son to receive detention tonight and for points to be taken from Slytherin house.” At that, Scorpius’ head snapped up, but Draco didn’t look at his son.

Potter stared at him for a moment, tilting his head, like he was asking Draco if he was sure about what he’d just said. Draco stared back, unflinching. “As you wish, Mr. Malfoy.” Scorpius gasped and looked from his father to Potter as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Ten points will be taken from Slytherin house and you will be notified of the time and location of your detention, Scorpius.”

“Make it twenty points. And detention to be served with someone _other_ than you. My son has wasted enough of your time already.” Draco’s tone left no room for argument, but Scorpius looked at him as if he’d just killed his crup. “You are dismissed. I will be up to the castle to speak with you in private later.”

Without another word of protest, Scorpius laid the broom back on the ground before heading back towards the castle. His shoulders were still hunched and his head lowered, which broke Draco’s heart, but he held firm. He’d learned early on that punishing his son was usually much worse for him than it was for Scorpius. 

When Scorpius disappeared under the archway that led onto the pitch, Potter finally spoke. “You don’t think that was a bit harsh?”

Draco didn’t need to consider the question for a second. “No, Potter, I don’t. I know what harsh parenting is.” The _from personal experience_ was left unsaid.

Potter had never been one for tact, but for once he kept his mouth shut, just nodding slowly as though he understood more than he really should have. Draco, like the rest of the Wizarding world, had heard the horrible stories about Potter’s childhood and the Muggles who’d raised him, but he’d never really believed them until now.

Reaching into the pocket of his cloak, Draco rummaged around for his pocket watch, but came up empty. Only then did he remember that he was wearing Potter’s cloak. “I don’t suppose you have the time? I left my watch in my cloak.” It was a terrible change of subject, but it worked.

“A little after six. He’ll make it back in time for dinner.” Potter considered the watch on his wrist and Draco wondered if he was buying time in an effort to avoid eye contact. Draco wouldn’t have blamed him for that one bit.

“In that case...” Draco felt his shoulders sag, for the first time since Scorpius’ confession. He felt exhausted and he had an ache developing between his shoulder blades. “I’ve have an hour to fill.” Before he even realized he was doing it, Draco walked over to the bleachers and plopped down on the bottom one. The movement was less than graceful, and the bag he’d been carrying around crinkled in protest. 

Potter dropped down next to him, leaving just enough space between them to keep from brushing his knees against the bag. Draco noticed that Potter had angled towards him slightly and was shaking his knee back and forth a bit. He wanted to reach out and stop the irritating jiggling, but he didn’t know how Potter would respond. Then there was his resolve to consider - he wasn’t supposed to want to touch Potter. But with exhaustion quickly creeping in, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to bridge the gap between them. It would feel so good to be able to touch, to take comfort in another after what had just transpired with his son. But he couldn’t. Touching Potter would open a door, one that Draco didn’t think he’d be able to close again. There would be no turning back if he gave in to those small touches, no matter how innocent they might seem. So Draco kept his hands to himself and he felt all the more alone because of it. 

“I don’t know what to do with him some days,” Draco confessed in a tired voice. He didn’t know why he was telling Potter this. Perhaps because he was a professor? Or maybe it was because Potter was there and he was listening. Unlike with Pansy, who tended to dismiss Draco’s feelings when it came to his son, Potter wasn’t laughing at him or rolling his eyes. “Scorpius has always been a good kid, but sometimes…”

“I think that the important thing to keep in mind,” Potter said as he turned himself towards Draco even more, “is that he is just a kid.”

Draco looked at him, eyebrows raised in question.

“Think back to what _you_ were doing in first year. I know that the circumstances were different, but still…” Potter smirked knowingly. “In the grand scheme of things, I don’t think that this is so bad.”

“Merlin,” Draco said, putting his head in his hands and shaking it. “When did you get so wise, Potter?”

“Are you implying that there was a time when I wasn’t?”

“If I remember correctly,” he said through the gaps in his fingers, “that was always Granger’s specialty.” 

Potter laughed and the sound filled the chilly October air. “And it still is, to be quite honest. But I’ve learned a thing or two about dealing with kids in my years as a professor here. And the most important thing to remember is that kids will do stupid stuff. I’m pretty sure that you’ll even find that in _Hogwarts: A History_ , but I’d have to check with Hermione to be sure.”

Draco snorted and scrubbed his hands over his face before letting them fall into his lap. He looked at Potter and said, “When did you get so good at this?”

“Didn’t really have a choice. Being a professor here means that you have to learn how to deal with students and their parents very quickly.” He smiled and shrugged like it was no big deal.

As they sat and looked at each other, Draco felt the beginning of a small connection between them, one that felt so comfortable and familiar that he could hardly stand it. Draco couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so comfortable with someone other than Potter. He didn’t even feel the same way with Pansy, and she was not only his best friend, but part of his family. “Did I overreact?” He held his breath as he waited for an answer.

Potter just shrugged. “You did what you felt was right. I think that _twenty_ points was a bit much…” He laughed a bit and bumped his knee against Draco’s. “But I think he learned his lesson, and a detention and loss of points was certainly fair. He’ll get over it. Eventually. Once you show him whatever’s in that bag, I’m guessing.”

Draco looked at the brown paper bag that he’d left Florean Fortescue’s with a couple short hours ago. Pistachio had sent him on his way with it as a surprise for Scorpius, to make him feel better about having problems flying. But after what had just happened… Draco wasn’t about to present him with a treat. That would only reinforce bad behavior. Draco himself had been an example of that when he’d started at Hogwarts. It had taken him a _very_ long time to break the long-ingrained habit. “He’ll have to get over it _without_ a bribe,” Draco said matter-of-factly.

“Well said,” Potter commented, and it made Draco feel better about his decision. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the wind whipping Draco’s fine blonde hair around his face, even thought he’d secured it back with a black tie. Potter’s hair barely seemed to move, but it was notably messier than when they’d left the castle. Draco tried to hold back a shiver as a particularly strong wind whipped through the field. Potter barely seemed to notice it, which was impossible to believe with his bare arms. Draco did notice, though, that he had a fine smattering of goose flesh running up those arms. The revelation that perhaps he wasn’t as warm as he was pretending made Draco smile, just a little.

“What?” Potter asked, his face open and curious.

Draco shook his head a little. “Nothing.” Suddenly, a thought struck him and, emboldened by the ease between them, he decided to act on it. “I know its dinnertime at the castle, but I have an hour to fill. Care to join me in some of Florean Fortescue’s best?”

It’s was Potter’s turn to have his eyebrows climb up his forehead. Draco didn’t know if it was in shock or amusement, but the sight made him laugh either way. “Alright. I wasn’t really looking forward to heading back into that madhouse yet, anyway.”

Chuckling, Draco set the large brown bag between them and pulled it open. Pistachio had insisted on adding so much of this and that that Draco didn’t really know what he was going to find inside. He hoped that there would be something chocolate, though. He _adored_ chocolate. When he looked into the depths, Draco wasn’t disappointed. There were two dishes of ice cream, both heaping with scoops in varying flavors. They were just as frosty as when they’d been prepared, thanks to Pistachio’s patented cooling charm; each dish was contained in its own little bubble that appeared to be filled with swirling snowflakes. It only took a tap of the wand and the bubble would burst, sending a mini-snow shower up into the air. Not only did it serve the purpose of keeping the ice cream at the perfect temperature, but it was also quite lovely to look at. 

Very carefully, Draco reached into the bag and pulled out one of the dishes. It contained three heaping scoops that looked like mint chip, cookie dough and black cherry. After setting it on the bleacher between them, Draco pulled out the other, which appeared to be chocolate fudge, chocolate chip and brownie bites. Draco knew which one he wanted, but he set it down next to the other before reaching into the bag once again. If Potter chose the all chocolate one, Draco would just have to grin and bear it.

Potter leaned towards him, close enough that he could feel his messy black hair brushing against his cheek. The touch was barely there, but Draco had felt it and it made his hand clench around the box at the bottom of the bag. He didn’t know how long he’d waited, but it must have been longer than necessary because he heard Potter say, “Well, what is it?”

He quickly yanked the box out of the bag, knocking the now-empty bag over in the process. It tumbled away a bit, going along with the wind, and Draco scrambled to grab it. By the time he sat back down, Draco’s cheeks were burning with an embarrassment that was only made worse by Potter’s amused smile.

“We could have just summoned it, you know?” He wiggled his eyebrows, as if to let Draco in on some scandalous secret. “There’s this spell kids are using now. The _Accio_ charm, I think it’s called.” He looked like he was on the verge of laughter.

If anyone else had said something so cheeky to him, Draco would have had a few choice words for them. But with Potter, he didn’t feel offended or angered, just a little bit ruffled. Before he could think about it anymore, he whacked Potter in the knee with the empty bag and said, “shut it, you.”

Potter laughed and Draco couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. He seemed so relaxed and open, unlike the Potter he’d grown up with. That kid, he hated with a passion. This _man_ , however, was another story. Before Potter could call him on staring, and before his imagination could run away with itself, Draco looked at the box in his hands. 

Brown, like the bag, it was embossed with the Florean Fortescue’s logo in sparkling silver and underneath it read, _Presents a most magical and delicious partnership with Honeydukes._ All around the writing little stars flashed and twinkled and a small frog hopped lazily about the logo. Pistachio had been telling him about this new partnership, but this was his first time seeing the logo and he was quite impressed. It looked beautiful.

“Wow, what’s that?” Potter had leaned in again, but this time, he didn’t move away. “I’ve never heard about that before.”

Draco felt all of his breath leave him as Potter leaned in even closer. “Oh, umh…” He tried to make his brain work, but it simply refused. “It’s for…” He swallowed deeply, forcing himself to calm down. He was a grown man, not a love sick teenager, he reminded himself. He also took the opportunity to remind himself that Potter wasn’t an option. But unlike earlier, when that thought had sobered him instantly, he still felt his pulse racing, even if his thoughts were much clearer now. “Pistachio Fortescue has partnered up with Honeydukes to create a line of sweets to offer as toppings.”

“Wow, that’s a brilliant idea.” Potter sat back and Draco ached at the loss of his nearness, quickly scolding himself for it. But he couldn’t deny that he felt much colder now than he had only a moment ago. “How is that going for them?”

“Oh, the line hasn’t been released yet. This is just a sample. No one is supposed to know it’s even happening yet.” Draco hadn’t realized what he’d just said until it was too late. He knew that it was too much to hope that maybe Potter hadn’t realized what he’d let slip…

“How do you have it then?” 

Draco mentally chided himself. “Pistachio and I have been friends for years and she’s kindly offered to donate an ice cream bar for my upcoming charity ball. I stopped by to see her for a preview tasting today.”

Potter nodded as if he were trying to remember something. “Oh, yeah, I heard about the ball. It’s the tenth anniversary of Hope for Heroes, right?” 

“Yes, how did you know?” Draco couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice, no matter how hard he tried. It was just too impossible to think that Harry Potter knew about his event.

“Hermione mentioned it to me. She plans on going. She’s dragging Ron along, too.” He laughed and Draco had the distinct impression that he was thinking about something that had happened between the three of them. He couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

“Oh?” Was all he said.

“Yeah, well, Ron hates going to anything that requires dress robes. I’m pretty sure he’s still a bit scarred from the Yule Ball.” He shivered in mock fear and said, “Those robes would frighten anyone into hating fancy events.” 

Draco’s mind took him back to their fourth year instantly and without his permission. He remembered himself in black dress robes in the richest of fabrics and Pansy, his date, dressed in her finest, though he couldn’t remember the color of what she’d been wearing. (A fact he’d never admit to her for fear of death.) He could vaguely recall dancing once or twice before getting into some trouble with Snape. But other than that, he couldn’t really remember all that much. However, he _did_ remember the truly horrendous robes that Weasley had worn and the hard time he’d given him for them. Draco felt bad about that now, but there was nothing he could do. Years ago he’d realized that even if he were to dedicate his entire life to righting the wrongs of his youth, he would never get everyone, so he chose to look to the future instead. “Ah, yes, now I recall,” was his only response.

“But… yeah. Your charity is brilliant.” Potter’s tone was nervous and Draco looked over at him. “We make a donation every year. Don’t tell Hermione I told you, she doesn’t think that people should be congratulated for trying to do something good.”

Draco had never had any idea that he’d been receiving donations from Harry Potter and Hermione Granger - and, he guessed, Ron Weasley - for years. Of course, Hope for Heroes had multiple anonymous donors, but he’d never even considered that Potter and his friends might be among them. “I won’t,” was all Draco could say. 

“So, what’s in that box?” Potter looked just about as anxious to change the subject as Draco had been before, so he took pity on him and pulled open the lid. Inside he found a variety of small plastic bags, each tied shut with a silver ribbon. Draco pulled one out and looked at it; it was filled with miniature brown frogs that were trying their best to hop around. “Are those…” Potter trailed off as he took hold of the top, letting his hand linger on Draco’s as he twisted the little bag and examined the contents. 

“Miniature chocolate frogs,” Draco finished in a whisper. When Potter pulled his hand away to look more closely at the confection, Draco imagined that he could still feel Potter’s fingers against his. “They hop around your dish, but never hop off. They also melt on your…” Potter looked over at him, all curiosity and kindness. “Tongue.” Potter didn’t look away; instead, he seemed to become more interested, leaning forward just a bit. Unable to stand it any longer, Draco reached into the box and pulled out another. He looked down and found that it was full of small red balls. “Exploding peppermint imps. Bite into them and-”

“I don’t know how to act around you,” Potter said in a rushed breath. “You’re so different from what I remember and you’re just…” He gestured towards Draco, the bag of miniature chocolate frogs still in his hand. 

“I’m what?” Draco asked and his heart thudded painfully, just once. He was desperate to know the answer, but he was also terrified of what it might be. 

“Confusing,” Potter said simply. “And kind of wonderful.” 

“I… I…” He felt his mouth open and close, could feel his jaw working as he tried to speak, but felt as if he’d left his body behind and was watching the scene unfold from across the pitch. His feet felt numb and the sensation spread quickly through the rest of his body as what Potter was saying to him sunk in. 

“I’m sorry,” Potter pulled back a little, and it was then that Draco realized he hadn’t actually responded to him. He could see the disappointment in Potter’s emerald eyes and he hated himself for putting in there.

“Why?” He quickly said, hoping that he hadn’t lost the moment, hoping that there was a moment there at all and he wasn’t just making it up in his head.

Potter laughed nervously and ran his hands through his hair, thoroughly rumpling it. “You’re just… There’s something…” He left both of the sentences unfinished and Draco waited, wishing that he would fill in the blanks. “I don’t know,” he dropped his hand, “I’ve really messed this up. I should never have-”

Draco’s mind began to race, trying to think of a way to salvage the situation, but before he could come up with anything, Potter spoke. “Tell me about the charity ball. How is it coming along?"

It was gone. Draco could feel it. The magical little bubble that had surrounded them, keeping them warm against the cold breeze, had burst, just like the charms on the ice cream soon would. If only he’d spoken sooner maybe they’d still be tucked away inside their own little world, trying to navigate their way from past acquaintances to… wherever. But because he hadn’t been able to string three words together, Draco had lost his chance. He felt his heart ache and his stomach sink as he said, “It's ok. It’s been a lot more work than I’d imagined.”

“Yeah…” Potter seemed to be just as lost as Draco, and he had the sudden urge to reach out and touch him, just to see if the physical connection would bring back their little bubble. He resisted.

He didn’t know how Potter would react. (Even though he’d touched Draco before.)

Draco didn’t know how he would react if Potter didn’t reject him. (Even though Potter clearly wasn’t against the idea.)

Instead, he decided to go with the topic, since that would keep them talking, at least. He tried to tell himself it was for the best as he wasn’t allowed to think that way about Potter anyway. “Pansy is doing the flowers and I’m taking care of the desserts.” He gestured towards the bowls of ice cream. “Take whichever you’d like,” he said before continuing on. “Food has been an issue. She wants to go with something modern and I’d like to stick with The Leaky Cauldron. It’s more-”

“Comforting.” Potter didn’t look at him; instead, he considered the two bowls of ice cream before choosing the mint chip, cookie dough and black cherry combination. Draco practically cried in relief, he didn’t think he could handle the loss of the chocolate after what had just happened.

“Exactly,” he said. “Pansy doesn’t seem to understand that I want something that-”

“People grew up with and that they have good memories of.” He held up the small dish and said, “Are you sure you don’t want to give this to Scorpius?”

“Positive. I want to share it with you,” Draco heard himself say. It was too late, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. It was the truth and he wanted Potter to know it. He shrugged a little, trying not to feel the defeat in the movement.

Potter looked down at the dish in his hands and nodded. He looked so much like the boy Draco had known, the same tan skin and black hair - not to mention his eyes. But there was something else there, not just something older, but wiser and calmer. Something much more open. It was something that Draco felt himself wanting to reach out and hold onto forever, if only he could.

“Do you mind?” Potter nodded at the frosty globe covering his ice cream. “I left my wand in my office.”

“Of course,” Draco said and pulled out his wand. He looked at the dish in Potter’s hand, watching the small flakes of enchanted snow swirling around inside. It was a perfect winter wonderland, kind of like a snow globe, Draco thought before he tapped gently on the top. The frosted bubble burst in a flurry of snow that swirled up and around Potter before disappearing on the wind. Potter watched the flakes, a tiny smile on his face. Once again, Draco was overcome with the desire to reach out and touch him. 

And he might have, if Potter hadn’t looked over at him. “What about yours?”

The bowl felt suddenly heavy in his lap and Draco could feel the cold beginning to seep through the cloak and his trousers. He lifted his wand and tapped gently once again, this time sending a flurry of snowflakes around himself. The feeling of being swallowed up in a snow globe, of being part of a perfect little scene, forever frozen in a beautiful moment, took over. He wanted to slip inside of his own little bubble where he would have his son and a boyfriend - maybe even husband, eventually. 

He had never felt lonelier than he did in that moment. 

It was a loneliness that even chocolate ice cream couldn’t help.

Draco’s throat tightened up as he thought of himself, painfully alone. It was strange, he thought, that he’d never realized this before, that it had never occurred to him that he wasn’t happy. Pansy had seen it and Pistachio had apparently seen it. Why was he the last to figure it out? And why did he have to realize this now, with Potter sitting next to him.

“Potter, I,” he began to say, even though he had no idea what to say.

“Draco…” Potter whispered, and it swirled away on the wind like one of Pistachio’s enchanted show flakes.

Whatever Draco had been about to say disappeared at the sound of his given name falling from Potter’s lips after so many years. The only times they’d called each other by their first names before was to tease or taunt, the names being curses as strong as some of those in the Restricted Section. Or when they’d been behind the locked door of their little room at The Leaky Cauldron, safely tucked away from the outside world, every little whisper or sigh seeming like a caress. But even then, he’d never once heard Potter say his name with such… 

Reverence.

The kindness in Potter’s voice reached so deeply into Draco’s soul that it ached, touching places Draco had long ago forgot existed. He had heard his name said in a million different ways, but never had he heard it whispered like a prayer. Not even from Astoria, Scorpius’ mother. Draco couldn’t help but wonder if Potter had said his name like that when they’d been together and he’d somehow missed it. He’d been so caught up with the wedding planning and Astoria’s constant need to double (and triple) check everything with him that he hadn’t had much time to actually _think_ about what was going on. When it came to Potter and their stolen time together, Draco had been more than happy to shut off his mind and just _feel_. Now though, he wished that he hadn’t. 

Draco felt his chest hitch as he tried to speak, but he seemed to have lost the ability as no sound, not even an “umh,” would come out. 

Who leaned forward first, Draco wasn’t really sure, but it didn’t seem to matter. Before he knew what was happening, Draco felt himself angling towards Potter, their knees pressing firmly together as their lips met ever so briefly, with the lightest of possible touches. The kiss felt cool and delicate, like the whisper of a snowflake across his skin. It was over just as quickly as it had started, and it wasn’t until he felt Potter pull away that Draco realized he’d closed his eyes. He lingered for a moment, enjoying the achingly familiar feel of the kiss.

Maybe, he thought, it had always felt like that between them. And maybe what they’d had hadn’t been _just_ a fling, after all. It was a wonderful yet terrifying realization.

When he blinked his eyes open, wondering if the world had suddenly turned upside down, Draco found Potter looking at him, his expression one of pure joy. The kiss had been so gentle and sweet, but now that it was over, Draco felt overwhelmed. What had he done? The first, and most ridiculous, thing that popped into his head was, _I’ve kissed a teacher._ The next, and much more important one was, _I’ve kissed Harry Potter._

Potter blinked dazedly twice and opened his mouth to say something. It was just enough time for Draco to escape. “I’m sorry, I really must go and find Scorpius. I’m sure dinner must be over by now.” Before he could see the disappointment take over Potter’s handsome face, Draco jumped up and all but ran across the pitch and through the archway. He wanted to stop and lean against the tower supporting the Hufflepuff banner once he was out of sight, but there was no guarantee that Potter hadn’t followed him, so he didn’t slow down, not until he was standing outside of the Great Hall, his chest heaving and his heart aching.

Pistachio’s ice cream was long forgotten.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

What felt like an eternity later, Draco sat in the small reading room in his flat. Ever since running off of the pitch, Draco had been chilled to the bone. At first, as he’d sat and talked with Scorpius in his dorm room, he’d thought it was because of how long he’d sat outside on the pitch. When he’d gotten back to his place he’d gone directly into the bathroom and stood under a hot shower until the water ran cold. But now, hours later and sitting under a blanket next to a warm fire, Draco was still cold and he could no longer blame it on the pitch.

Normally, after a long day at work, he liked to curl up in his worn leather chair, prop his feet up on the ottoman, and get lost in a good book as he sipped his favorite tea-and-firewhisky blend. Tonight though, he had his feet curled tightly against his body and he’d forgone the tea in favor of straight firewhisky.

He held the tumbler in his hands and stared at the amber liquid inside. Draco tipped the glass to the right and then the left, barely registering the movement of the liquid inside of it. His mind was lost in thoughts of Scorpius acting out because his dormmates had dared him and of Potter’s lips pressing against his tenderly.

When he’d gone to Scorpius, his mind had been a confused mess. Draco had originally planned on having Scorpius tell him about how the whole dare had come about in the first place, but as he stared at his son, the only coherent thought that seemed to pass through his mind was, _I kissed Harry Potter._ And as he stared at Scorpius, who looked terrified at the sight of him, he felt like the worst father ever for not being able to think about anything but himself. 

After taking a deep, calming breath which only seemed to make Scorpius tenser, Draco had sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the seat next to him. Scorpius had sat, but his nervousness had kept him from getting too close, a fact that had broken Draco’s heart. Rather than let the distance remain, Draco had scooted closer and put his arms around Scorpius’ shoulder before asking him to tell him everything. Scorpius’ thin shoulders had heaved pathetically and then he’d started in on the tale. 

His dormmates had been giving him a hard time for being the son of Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater. They’d teased him and said that he was too soft to be in Slytherin, unlike his dad. He’d been desperate to prove them wrong, so he’d accepted their dare: make Professor Potter think he couldn’t fly and convince him to give him private lessons. By the end of the story, Scorpius had been in tears, snuffling as he tried to apologize and wiping his nose on his sleeve. 

Draco had held him as he cried, wishing that his son hadn’t had to pay for his father’s past. It made Draco wonder if he had really come all that far after all, if school children were still spreading rumors about who he _used_ to be. As Scorpius worked through his sobs, Draco had wondered what he was supposed to do next. When he was in school, all he’d had to do was drop a _hint_ about something to his father and Lucius Malfoy would storm the castle to get it for him. But Draco refused to be that man. Instead, he’d told Scorpius what he wished that Lucius would have told him – kids can be bullies, but you are a Malfoy and you are better than that. You have nothing to prove to them. 

In the end, Draco didn’t really think that his advice had helped any, but Scorpius refused to let him talk to the Headmaster about it. He’d promised to write about any problems he was having, and they made a deal: if things got worse with his dorm mates, Draco would make a visit to the Headmaster. But _only_ if things got worse. Scorpius wanted a chance to try and make things right on his own, and Draco was immensely proud of him for that.

Draco pressed the tumbler against his lower lip, relishing the feel of the cool glass against his skin. He’d seen his son a few hours ago, but as he sat in their flat, he was overcome with just how quiet and lonely it was. When Scorpius was there, there was _always_ noise, even when he was sleeping (Scorpius talked in his sleep. A _lot_.) The constant hum of sound used to bother Draco, but as he sat in his reading room totally and completely alone, he missed it. He thought of turning on the wireless, but for some reason the thought of music filling up the empty space bothered him even more. He wanted sound, but not just any sounds. No, Draco wanted the sounds of _life_ to fill his flat.

Socked feet padding along the wooden floors.

Pots and pans being moved around in the kitchen.

Someone calling his name.

Laughter. Tears. Toys breaking. Papers moving.

Draco wanted it all. 

And worse yet, he knew who he wanted to have it all with.

Harry Potter. That prat.

Potter had managed to work his way back into Draco’s life all because his son wasn’t brave enough to stand up to the bullies. How was that for a cruel twist of fate? 

And it wasn’t like Draco could brush his feelings aside because he didn’t know if Potter was interested. That kiss said it all to him, even if their history was still a little unclear. Draco was pretty sure that if he asked, Potter would be his in a second, but was that what Draco really wanted? He didn’t even know who Potter really was any more, so much time had passed. Draco certainly wasn’t the same kid he’d been at the end of the war, and neither was Harry. 

Oh… _Harry_.

Draco pressed his eyes tightly shut when he realized that he’d just thought of Potter as Harry. 

He was torn between draining what was left of his firewhiskey and pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the impending headache that he could feel brewing behind his eyes. Instead, he pulled his legs up closer to his chest, wishing he could take back the past few hours. 

The flames in the grate roared a brilliant green and Pansy’s face appeared in the grate. A Floo call. Because that was _exactly_ what he needed at the moment. Her face in the flames made his decision easy. He quickly downed the rest of his drink, placed the tumbler on the small table next to him and _then_ pinched at the bridge of his nose just as she said, “Draco, darling, you look positively dreadful.”

It was true, he did look awful. His mirror had informed him as much earlier, but he did _not_ need to hear it from Pansy, too. Instead of trying to come up with a witty reply, he shook back his damp hair, which was drying in fuzzy waves, and then glared at her. 

“Oooh,” Even though her head was stuck in the Floo, Draco could tell that she was looking him over for clues. “What happened with Potter, you must tell-”

Unable to stand the sound of her voice, Draco cut her off before she could get any further. “What do you want, Pansy? I’ve had a hard day.”

“Someone’s in a mood,” she sniffed. “I was calling to apologize for earlier, but now I’m not so sure if I want to. Also, don’t forget about your date tomorrow. Seven PM in that new little Italian place right outside the Muggle entrance to Diagon Alley. Don’t be late.”

Draco groaned. He’d completely forgotten that she’d scheduled another blind date for him for Saturday night. He was just about to tell her to cancel because he really wasn’t in the mood to go out, but her head disappeared with an annoyed _pop_ and the flames returned to their normal red and gold before he had a chance to get a word out. 

The flames danced merrily before his eyes, crackling softly, and Draco stared into them - but all he could see was Harry, smiling back.

It was the last thing he thought of before he fell asleep that night.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Barefoot and in her favorite night dress, Pansy paced back and forth in front of her Floo, debating over whether or not to call Draco back despite the late hour. After her meeting with Potter and the way lunch had gone, she’d expected the flying lesson to be rough. But seeing Draco made her realize that she hadn’t fully understood just _how_ rough.

She’d wanted to pop in and check on him, apologize for how she’d acted, but Draco’s mood had set her off instantly. Pansy stuck her thumbnail in her mouth and chewed on it, a habit she’d long ago broken, but was now threatening to make a comeback. 

Looking back, she could remember that Draco had seemed very upset, drinking straight firewhisky without any tea, from the smell of it. That alone was enough to make her worry, as Draco had never been a heavy drinker. He’d also looked so… lost. That was really the only word for it. She’d wanted to climb out of the Floo and kneel before him, forcing him to tell her what happened with Potter. But she couldn’t do that, not without giving away the fact that she now _knew_.

Now it was after three and she didn’t know what to do. She thought about Floo-ing Potter, but dismissed the idea instantly. If Draco was that upset, there was no telling what kind of reaction she’d get from Potter. And then there was the fact that she wasn’t sure how the Hogwarts Floos connected anymore. Just her luck she’d try it and end up in the dungeons for trespassing into Potter’s office. 

Feeling helpless, Pansy tried to settle down in bed, but sleep refused to come.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Draco woke late the next morning, his eyes protesting against the light streaming in through the window in his bedroom. For a few moments, he stayed curled up on his side. It was obvious from the way the blanket was still tucked tightly about him that he hadn’t moved once during the night. It made him feel so completely relaxed and cozy that he let his imagination run as he lay there in that wonderful place between consciousness and sleep.

In his dazed state, the warmth cocooning him wasn’t from the blanket, but rather Harry’s body. Draco was still asleep enough that he could imagine Harry pressed up behind him, his arm tight around Draco’s waist, holding him secure as he pressed his nose into the nape of Draco’s neck, his breath coming deep and slow as he slept soundly. Draco could feel his own breath falling into sync with Harry’s as he scooted back, trying to fit himself even more snugly against his boyfriend’s body. Harry didn’t wake up, but his arm flexed, holding even more tightly to Draco. It should have been uncomfortable, hot and confining, but in the wee hours of the morning, where anything was possible, it felt like heaven.

As he snuggled further into the comforters, he didn’t know if what he was feeling was fantasy or memory.

It wasn’t until Draco realized that it had to be around lunchtime that logic took over, pulling him out of that wonderful place where it was still early morning, the sun barely shining and Harry there with him. When his gut clenched in loneliness, Draco wished he’d never indulged his fantasy. It made getting out of bed and facing his empty flat that much harder. 

Reluctantly, Draco pushed back his covers and sat up, hissing as his toes hit the freezing floor. When he’d gone to bed the flat had been warm, but now it was an ice box. He wondered if the temperature had dropped that drastically overnight. With his feet pressed firmly against the cold wood, he decided that it was time to invest in a pair of slippers to keep his feet cozy on the journey from the bed to the loo. It was a random and sleepy thought, but Draco couldn’t help it, his feet being cold was one his pet peeves in life.

After bracing himself, he stood up and made his way to the bathroom. After flushing, Draco stripped and stepped directly into the shower, cursing when a deluge of freezing water cascaded over his bare skin. 

As the water slowly warmed up, Draco thought about his flat. It was located deep in Diagon Alley, in an old shop building that had been renovated and turned into small apartments. They’d been very popular with the trendier witches and wizards who wanted to show how hip they were by living in the heart of Wizarding London. Draco had bought one because he’d refused to live in the Manor after his parents passed and because he could afford it without dipping into the family vaults. It had served its purpose for many years, providing a cozy home for Draco and Scorpius. But now Draco was seeing a different side of it. It was small and cold and not very welcoming. The water temperature and heating and cooling charms were temperamental and his neighbors were ridiculously noisy. He loved living in the Alley, but he wanted more space and a little more privacy. Draco realized that what he wanted was a house with a yard that he could call home. 

He could just imagine Scorpius running around the yard in summer, playing with a dog, or maybe a cat. They could eat lunch outside and practice flying. And in this lovely fantasy, Draco saw a third person, whom he refused to acknowledge looked an awful lot like Potter, carrying a tray of drinks outside for them. Draco felt himself smile, soapy water running down his body from his scalp. Draco wasn’t even there, but he already felt happier than he had in a very long time. Blinking around the last of the bubbles streaming out of his hair, Draco felt a sharp stab of loneliness in his chest as he stared at the tile wall in front of him, but he clamped it down and refused to let it overwhelm him. It was time for changes in his and Scorpius’ lives - his happiness depended upon it. Even the thought of taking a step towards change made Draco feel better.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Pansy spent the whole morning wondering if she should try and Floo Draco before his date. Or maybe even Potter, to see if she could get some information out of him. In the end, she decided to do neither, choosing to devote her morning to working on the ball instead. If she was lucky, she could have all of the favors decided on and ordered before lunch.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Draco showed up at the restaurant Pansy had mentioned five minutes before his date was supposed to arrive. He felt nervous, a bit giddy with anticipation. It wasn’t so much that he was looking forward to another blind date, but after deciding that it was time to make some major changes in his life, everything seemed new and fresh. Even simple things like picking out what to wear for this dinner – he’d opted to wear black corduroy trousers and a soft emerald green cashmere sweater. And in the spirit of change, he’d left his hair loose, letting it hang around his shoulders in a pale white wave. His glasses he’d left at home, deciding to go with a new vision-enhancement charm instead. Personally, Draco didn’t see what all of the fuss was about. The charm made his eyes feel strange, like they were covered with a thin film. Pansy had sworn the feeling would go away after a bit, but so far, it hadn’t. He much preferred his glasses to the foreign feeling invading his eyes, but it was too late to go home and change.

Minute after minute ticked past, and as he waited, Draco’s hands began to tremble. He didn’t know why, it wasn’t like he really expected anything to come of the date, but just the thought that something _might_ made him so nervous. He fought the urge to pace in front of the door, thinking the staff might frown upon that, and chose to sit on the bench instead. The restaurant was right next to the entrance to Diagon Alley and Draco could make out the sign waving in the cool night air. He’d never actually been inside of the restaurant, _Bar Italia_ , but its location made Draco wonder if it was Muggle- or wizard-owned. It had become a trend in the past few years for wizards to open business right outside the entrance to Diagon Alley, almost like they were hoping to expand beyond. Sitting outside, there was no way he could tell. But if the incredible smells coming from inside were any indication, he’d have guessed that it was wizard-owned. He’d never smelled anything that wonderful in a Muggle restaurant before.

“Sorry, so sorry!” Draco was in the middle of trying to find some sort of sign on the door, without looking like he was trying to find something on the door, when someone rushed up. He sort of recognized the voice, but Draco didn’t really realize who the man was until he saw his face. “Draco! It’s been too long.”

Draco jumped up and Blaise Zabini drew him into a hug, as if no time had passed between them. As far as Draco could recall, it had been quite a few years since they parted ways. They’d dated casually, spending more time in the bedroom than out, when Scorpius was a toddler, but it had never progressed beyond that stage. For some reason, Draco had never felt comfortable with introducing Blaise into his son’s life. There was just _something_ about him that made Draco think he wouldn’t be a good father figure. He didn’t like thinking that, but it was the truth. 

He’d tried to explain this when Blaise had asked why they were getting more serious and it had gotten ugly _quick_. Draco had thought he’d never see him again after that row.

But here he was, standing before Draco, just as handsome as ever with his bright smile and skin as dark as midnight. Draco gave him a quick look-over and was taken aback by the heavy wool coat and scarf he wore together with a pair of black and grey trousers. It was strange to see Blaise looking so… Muggle. “Pansy didn’t tell me that I was going to be meeting you,” Draco heard himself say.

Blaise smiled a little slyly, a look that had always melted Draco from the inside out. “I asked her not to.”

Draco felt his eyebrows rise in shock. “You knew I was going to be here?” He had a hard time wrapping his head around the idea that Blaise would show up knowing that Draco was his date. He could very distinctly remember Blaise shouting at him as he stomped out of the Manor (where Draco was living at the time) that if he ever saw Draco again, he would use the Cruciatus curse on him and force Draco to light himself on fire… among other things. Draco had a quick and terrifying moment of worrying that he was there to do just that.

“Yeah, we ran into each other at Gringotts last week.” Blaise shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight like he was trying to get warm. “I asked how you were, one thing led to another and…” He shrugged, like the rest should be obvious. 

And while it was, it totally wasn’t.

Draco couldn’t help it, he still felt very confused despite Blaise’s explanation and though he didn’t want to bring up a sore topic, he needed to be clear. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but…” It was his turn to let the silence do the talking. Draco only hoped that Blaise was better at understanding what it had to say than he had been.

“That was ages ago, Draco.” Blaise pulled one hand out of his pocket and took hold of Draco’s arm. “I was hurt, I said… _we_ said some horrible things.” He slowly let his hand drop, like he wasn’t sure if he should be touching Draco at all. Draco felt a quick moment of relief at the loss of contact, which he thought was quite strange. “I missed you the moment I walked out.”

“So… you’re not here to set me on fire?” Draco tried to make a joke out of it, but he didn’t think he’d succeeded until he heard Blaise chuckle.

“No, I am not.” Blaise pulled open the door to Bar Italia and gestured Draco in before him. “But let’s see how the night goes.” He winked before laughing for real. 

Draco just shook his head and walked inside. As he passed Blaise, he found what he’d been looking for, three little stars arranged in a triangle etched into the glass. It _was_ a wizard owned restaurant, after all.

“Zabini.” Blaise told the hostess who greeted them. “For two, I have a reservation.”

Draco looked around as she scanned the guest list for the reservation and grabbed menus. The restaurant was cozy and romantic, the type of place where people went to propose marriage or try and start something special. The ceiling was covered in tiny lights that blinked softly; to a Muggle, they’d look like white Christmas lights, but Draco could see them for what they were, tiny living fairies that had their own world above the diners. From the warm glow that they gave off, Draco could tell that they were very happy and well cared for. 

Before he could look at anything else, Blaise put his hand on the small of Draco’s back, making him jump a little in surprise. Blaise smiled, too close for comfort, and Draco looked at the hostess, trying to look anywhere but at the man next to him. He caught her mid-eyeroll and she looked away instantly. “Right this way,” she said, leading them into the restaurant. 

Bar Italia was separated into a few small rooms and from what Draco could tell, each had its own theme. The one they were led to was dressed up to look like a patio, the walls covered in living ivy with real grapes growing on trellises here and there. The Muggles around him ooh-ed and ah-ed over the plants, but Draco knew that it was just a few clever charms that kept them so lush and healthy. But he couldn’t deny that it made for a beautifully romantic setting as even more fairy lights twinkled above, mimicking the night sky. As they took their seats, Draco noticed that he could just make out the sound of music in the background. What is was, he didn’t know, but he could tell that it was meant to add to the romantic feel of the restaurant.

“Have you been here before?” Draco heard Blaise ask, as he was picking up his menu.

“No, this is my first time,” he said. “That obvious?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry. Pansy said you would love it.” Blaise smiled that same smile again, the one that had always made Draco feel warm and gooey inside, before picking up his own menu. 

Draco decided then and there that he was going to have to have a _talk_ with Pansy about how much information she was handing out about him. “Have you been here before?” He looked down at the menu, but didn’t really see it. He suddenly found himself very focused on what exactly was going on, because it felt like something _other_ than a first date, or even the first date with an ex-flame.

“Once or twice,” Blaise hailed a server who quickly hurried over, clearly eager to please. “A bottle of your finest, please.”

Finest? Finest what? Draco looked at Blaise, his smile had gone from kind to smug and Draco felt a niggling itch in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite place. Whatever Blaise had just ordered, Draco knew that he was going to have to keep an eye on his glass. “Interesting, come with anyone special?” 

Something dark flashed in Blaise’s eyes and his smile seemed to lose some of its warmth. “My ex-girlfriend.”

“Ah.” Draco said nothing else and pretended to be looking over the menu once again. He found that he didn’t have to pretend all that hard, though; the menu was fantastic and drew him instantly. Bar Italia was certainly not just a pretty place to come and eat in, and the chef clearly knew what was happening in Italian cuisine as the selections seemed to be an interesting mix of traditional recipes with modern twists. 

It didn’t take long for the waiter to return with a wine bottle in hand, the glass as vibrantly green as Harry’s eyes. _No,_ Draco thought as he pressed his eyes shut so that he couldn’t see the bottle. He wasn’t going to think about Harry Potter while he was out on a date with another man. (Again.) But even as he thought it, Draco couldn’t help but imagine how nice it would be to be there with Harry, splitting a bottle of something and laughing while they waited for their food to arrive. 

“Something wrong?” 

Blaise didn’t sound terribly concerned, Draco noticed, but he shook his head no so that he wouldn’t ask again. The waiter had filled his glass, and Blaise was already half-way through his before Draco had even picked his own up. Draco reached out to wrap his fingers around the stem of his wine glass when he felt something brush against his foot. He figured that Blaise must have bumped him as he moved his feet under the table. But when he felt it again, this time longer, he realized something…

Blaise was trying to play with his feet under the table. 

Draco took a very small sip from his glass and held absolutely still, trying to act like he hadn’t noticed. The wine was tart on his tongue, much stronger and fruitier than he cared for. He much preferred the deep burn of firewhisky over wine; always had. He set the glass back down, but didn’t let go of the stem. Where was the waiter, he wondered, getting very uncomfortable. After a minute, Blaise moved his foot back and Draco practically sighed in relief, moving his own out of the range of attack. Despite having slept in so late, he felt worn out. He wanted to get done with this _date_ and say goodnight so he could wash his hands of it. 

When he saw an older man with a shock of snow-white hair walking towards their table with a wine list in hand, Draco sat up a little straighter. “Hello and welcome to Bar Italia. My name is Joseph and I will be your server this evening.” He bowed to each of them in turn. “I would offer you our wine list, but I see that you have already been served.” 

Blaise looked up at Joseph intently, like he’d never heard anything so interesting in his life. But under the table, Draco felt Blaise’s foot slide against his own in an unmistakable caress. Draco tried to pull away, but Blaise followed him, sliding the tip of his shoe up Draco’s ankle and the side of his calf. Draco took a deep breath, trying to focus on that evening’s specials, while also trying to find some way of escaping without making a scene. He tried clearing his throat pointedly, but Blaise simply smirked. Draco was just about to ask the waiter for more time with the menu, so that he could ask Blaise to keep his foot to himself, when he felt the offending foot slide over his knee and all the way up his inner thigh, going higher and higher until…

“Do you mind?” Draco jumped up, knocking into the edge of the table and causing everything to shake as he did. Joseph looked stunned and Blaise looked completely unrepentant. 

“Shall I come back later, then?” Ever the professional, Joseph was trying to salvage the dinner by offering them a moment alone. 

But Draco didn’t need a moment to think. Things had felt wrong since Blaise had touched him outside. A touch between friends shouldn’t feel uncomfortable, but Draco couldn’t shake how strange Blaise’s hand on his arm had felt. “I know why I never wanted to introduce you to Scorpius now.” At the mention of his son and their disastrous breakup, Blaise’s face went dark. Apparently he wasn’t as over it as he’d originally let on. “All you care about is sex. You never wanted anything more.”

“That’s not…” Blaise started to protest, but apparently he didn’t care enough to even try. That or he knew that Draco was right.

Joseph seemed torn between whether he should stay or go. Personally, Draco thought that he was staying to make sure that things didn’t get too out of hand, something he was grateful for. If it hadn’t been for the waiter standing there, his hands clasped demurely in front of him, Draco might have picked up his drink and thrown it in Blaise’s face. Instead, he picked the glass up by the stem, downed it and set the glass back down on the table. It tasted terrible, but a savage little part of Draco hoped that it cost Blaise a fortune. “I want more in my life, Zabini. And you will never be it. If you try and get in touch with me again, you’ll be the one cursed and in flames.” Joseph lowered his head and Draco swore that he was smirking slightly. Without another word, Draco turned and stormed out of the restaurant. 

As he walked out into the cold night, Draco smiled to himself. Sure, the date had been terrible, but at least now he understood why things had failed so horribly with him.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Draco pulled open the door to The Leaky Cauldron and stopped just inside of it. He inhaled the familiar scents of roast chicken and stew and let the chatter from the crowd wash over him. He thought about stopping and eating, but he was on a mission and that mission didn’t include eating his feelings. Not right not, anyway - maybe once he was finished with Pansy.

After waving at the barman, Draco proceeded to the back room, and after tapping the appropriate bricks, he walked into the Alley, his dress shoes clacking on the cobblestone walkway. The night was cool and brisk and though Draco could easily have Apparated to his destination, he chose to walk instead. It was beautiful out and he needed to clear his mind.

About fifteen minutes later, Draco was standing in front of The Tawdry Talon, the hottest late-night spot located in Knockturn Alley, a very angry Pansy standing in front of him. Her arms were crossed tightly over her bosom, which was more bare than covered, and her black hair had been piled on top of her head in a glossy knot. Her bright-red lipstick was smeared just a touch, a clear sign she’d found her prize for the night. “Oh, come off it,” she huffed, “it couldn’t have been that bad.”

“I assure you, it was.” Draco blinked a few times, regretting the horrible contact charm. A sudden, terrible thought occurred to him as he looked at her smudged lipstick. “Did you tell him to-”

“Did I tell Blaise Zabini to molest you in one of the poshest new Italian restaurants in the city?” If it was cold outside, Pansy’s tone was positively glacial. “No, Draco, I didn’t.”

Draco couldn’t stop what came out of his mouth next. “I don’t believe you.”

Her eyes widened. “I have much better things to do with my time, Draco Malfoy. Like planning our benefit, for instance. Something that _you_ seem to have forgotten about.”

He ignored her barb about planning the ball and said, “Yet you have enough time to get me dates.” Draco crossed his arms over his chest, unconsciously mirroring her stance. “How is that any different?”

“Because I was trying to help you find a boyfriend, you prat. I want you to be happy,” Pansy yelled, attracting curious looks from a couple heading into the club. “I’m tired of seeing you miserable all the time.”

“I’m not-,” he started to say, but she cut him off with a deadly look. 

“I can’t believe you think I’d let Zabini anywhere near you if I thought that was all he wanted.” Pansy’s anger turned to hurt. “I may be awful, but I'm not _that_ awful. I would have thought that you, of all people, would know that.”

“But you…” Unable to find the right words, he gestured towards the club and her outfit. 

“I’m not like you, Draco. I don’t want to get married and all of that nonsense.” She pulled at the hem of her skirt and Draco thought that it was the first time he’d seen her looking shy in years. “You, you’re the marrying kind. Not me. I thought you understood that.”

“I just didn’t know you did,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry, Pansy.” Draco had the sudden desire to reach out and hug her. Things had been so strange between them lately that he wondered if there was a gap forming between them. He sort of felt like the only way to bridge that distance was to physically wrap his arms around her and not let go. “And you’re not awful. Not really.”

Thankfully, Pansy seemed to feel the same way as she reached out and pulled him close. 

She didn’t give him much time to react and Draco wasn’t able to get his arms all the way around her. He ended up feeling like he’d been crushed, but it was the most wonderful feeling in the world because it was Pansy who was doing the crushing. “Give me one more chance?” She whispered in his ear. “Just one?”

Draco’s first instinct was to say no, that he was done being set up, but he couldn’t bear to let her down. And also, there was that voice in the back of his mind reminding him that he was supposed to be getting out there and making some changes. He couldn’t very well make any changes if he just sat at home. So, very reluctantly, he said yes. She squealed a bit and hopped up and down, her arms still wrapped tightly around him. 

When she finally let go, Draco noticed that her eyes were shining. “Alright,” she said, clearly chocking back her emotion. Draco didn’t say anything, in fact, he didn’t do anything at all. He’d learned long ago that Pansy hated it when people pointed out if she was anywhere near tears. “One more try. I’ll make sure this one is great, I promise.” He doubted she could come up with anyone as great as Harry, but he kept that to himself.

“I’ll hold you to it,” Draco said, but he didn’t really expect much. They had _very_ different taste in men. 

“I’m sure you will,” she laughed. “But Draco,” she gently pushed a stray blonde hair behind his ear. “I really didn’t know that Blaise was going to act like that.”

“I know,” Draco said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. “I never should have doubted you.”

“You really shouldn’t have,” Pansy tried to quip, but it didn’t really work. “Now…” She straightened her shoulders and adjusted her top, making sure that it was as low as it could go. “I have an attractive man waiting for me at the bar. Wish me luck?”

“I would, but I don’t think you’ll need it.” Draco smiled wickedly and she laughed.

Draco turned to leave, but she called him back. “Draco, darling. You look different. Did something else happen?”

Draco thought about Harry and his earlier decision to start looking at houses and moving forward with his life. It had all seemed so important that morning, but for tonight, it didn’t matter. He would tell her some other time. Instead of answering, he shrugged, like nothing had changed.

“Well…” She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. “Whatever it is, you look good.”

He nodded his thanks and walked away, smiling to himself.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Sunday morning found Draco snuggled deep down into his covers again. His mind begged to roam and he let it, enjoying the fantasy of waking up to someone in bed with him, sharing the simple comforts that it offered. Unlike yesterday morning, it didn’t hurt when he realized he was alone, or that his flat was painfully silent, because now it felt temporary, like a step on the road to a new-found happiness.

Later that morning, as he sat in the kitchen nibbling on a piece of toast and reading the weekend edition of the Prophet, he was surprised when an owl tapped at his window, scroll in hand. He let it in (along with a chilly blast of air) and was delighted when he found that it was from Scorpius. 

Draco wondered how much bribery it had taken to convince the owl to deliver on a Sunday, and he offered her a large piece of toast in thanks. She took small chunks out of it as Draco read the note. It didn’t really say much other than that Scorpius had completed his detention (scrubbing the trophies in the trophy cases) and had already earned back two of the twenty points he’d lost. He hadn’t made much headway with his dormmates yet, they were all still too mad about the loss of points, but things were going ok so far. He ended the letter with, _Love, Scorpius. P.S. The school brooms are rubbish! I miss my Firebolt._

Draco smiled and scribbled a quick note back about how he was proud of his son for taking responsibility for his actions. He offered it to the owl, who stuck out her foot without hesitation and after another bite of toast, she was off. 

After reading over the letter one more time, Draco was struck with an idea.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

“You’re trying to impress Potter!” Pansy laughed and clapped her hands together, looking delighted. Once again they were holed up in the small office of Hope for Heroes, trying to iron out a few last details for the charity benefit that was quickly approaching. “Please, darling, tell me he’s reasons your cheeks look all rosy and flushed!”

“I am _not_ trying to impress him.” Draco could feel his cheeks burning hotly and willed them to return to their normal pale shade. “I am simply trying to give back to Hogwarts, our alma mater.”

“If that were the case, you could simply donate a hefty sum of gold to the school. Not-”

“I am _not_ dipping into the Malfoy family vaults unless absolutely necessary.” And he wouldn’t. Not even to help out Hogwarts. “Do you think it’s a good idea or not?”

“Oh, I think it’s a smashing idea,” she said. “I just think that it has ulterior motives. Not that there’s anything wrong with that…” 

Draco shot her a dirty look and envisioned himself throwing things at her head. “Then would you have the printers add it to the invitations, please?”

“Of course, dear.” Pansy smiled wickedly, but didn’t say anything else.

“Now that that’s settled…” Draco rifled through the papers on the table between them. So far, his organizing had held up, but the stack of things in the “to-do” pile was still daunting. They only had a few weeks to make their event spectacular. “You took care of the flowers, yes?”

“Of course.” Pansy placed the order confirmation in front of him and Draco felt a tiny weight lift from his shoulders. “I took care of the dessert. Pistachio has an incredible ice cream bar planned.” He thought about the ice cream she’d sent him away with and how he’d shared it with Harry. Or… he would have shared it with him, if he hadn’t run off. “It’ll be fantastic.” 

“We’ve also got the venue and decorations covered. Music is taken care of, as well. I also took care of the favors and crackers.” She scanned the list, making notes here and there with the phoenix-feather quill she was using. The tip of the feather was sizzling softly and Draco wondered how much longer before it turned to ash. “That leaves…”

“Food and a guest speaker.” Draco closed his eyes. Of course those were the two things left. 

“You know where I stand on the catering.” Pansy laid her quill down and Draco felt himself tense up. If the quill were to choose that moment to burn, they’d lose all of their notes and important papers. “I still think modern would be better.”

“And you know how I feel.” He eyed the quill, wondering if he could move it without upsetting Pansy. “We are hosting a ten year anniversary event for the families of fallen war heroes. We want them to feel warm and comfortable. Accepted.”

“In that case why not hand all of the guests slippers and a blankie as they walk in the door?”

Draco huffed in irritation. “Now you’re just being ridiculous. You _know_ that’s not what I’m saying.”

“You might as well be. Look, I enjoy The Leaky Cauldron as much as you do, their food is fantastic, but it’s not refined or upscale. It’s-”

“Homey and rustic,” he finished for her. “Unlike the place you want to go to, which is so…” He searched for the right word, but couldn’t quite find what he was looking for. “Cold.” It didn’t even come close to what he meant. “Sterile.” 

“It is gourmet dining, Draco. The height of sophistication in the Wizarding world. I know that that’s not really your thing anymore, but-”

“What?” He eyed Pansy, confused by what she’d just said. “What does that mean?”

“It means that you are not about fine dining and aristocratic refinement anymore.” Draco felt his eyebrows raise and Pansy quickly tried to rephrase what she’d just said. “You’re much more…”

“Choose your words carefully, Pansy.” He might have fought to distance himself from the Malfoy family history and stigma, but Draco liked to think that he hadn’t lost everything about himself in the process. 

“...Laid-back now, that’s all I was going to say.” She held up her hands, as if trying to prove her innocence. “You’re not as…”

“This is my charity and I’ve made _my_ decision. We will be going with The Leaky Cauldron for dinner. End of discussion.” Draco felt a smug sense of satisfaction when he saw her eyes go wide. “And remove your quill from this table. I don’t care to lose all of my important documents to a fashion trend.” With that, he stood up and walked back to his desk, leaving Pansy to consider what had just happened.

At the end of the day, as Pansy was pulling on her cloak, she called over to him. “Your last date is tonight, seven o’clock at the Three Broomsticks. And as this is _your_ event, _you_ can find the guest speaker _yourself_. I’m done trying to help with that. Plus, I’ve done most of the footwork for this thing. It’s your turn.”

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

When Pansy got home, she was still steaming. It seemed like no matter what she did or said, a fight was inevitable nowadays. But that didn’t mean she didn’t still love Draco, so she pulled out a piece of parchment and scribbled out a quick owl…

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Six o’clock found Draco in the shower, trying to calm his whirling thoughts that ranged from wondering about his blind date to why he and Pansy were constantly arguing lately and _who_ he was going to find to speak at the event. Everything could be absolutely perfect, but if they didn’t have an amazing guest speaker to mark their ten year anniversary, they may as well not even bother. He scrubbed his scalp until the shower ran cold and then realized that he’d forgotten to do anything else. Draco was forced to finish bathing under a cold tap, cursing his flat’s hot water charms as he did so.

Sufficiently clean, Draco cast a few quick charms on his hair to dry, straighten and style it before grabbing a pair of grey and black pinstripe trousers out of the closet. At the suggestion of his mirror, he paired the pants with a black V-neck sweater that was positively striking with his complexion. 

Unwilling to deal with uncomfortable eyes all night, Draco put on his silver-framed glasses and checked his reflection. He looked quite handsome, if he did say so himself. Draco tried to look beyond his appearance to see what Pansy had seen. No, he didn’t wear the finest, most expensive clothing anymore, and he didn’t live at Malfoy Manor, but Draco didn’t think he’d completely forgotten that life, either. He liked to think that he was somewhere in between the spoiled child he’d grown up as and someone who didn’t care at all about their lifestyle or appearance. And if that meant that he was more relaxed now, so be it, he thought. He was much happier now than he’d been at eleven, and that meant something to him.

It was ten to seven when Draco went to grab a cloak before Apparating to Hogsmeade. He thought that perhaps he’d go with the silver one as it would match his ensemble beautifully, but when he went to reach for it, he noticed something…

His emerald-green cloak was missing.

And in its place was an old, worn Hogwarts one.

Draco struggled to remember where he’d left his when a terrible thought occurred to him. He’d taken it off in Potter’s office because Potter had known that Scorpius would recognize it. In his haste to get away from Potter, he’d completely forgotten about it. He hadn’t even noticed when he left for work that morning. 

Grasping the edge of Harry’s cloak, Draco felt his throat tighten. Why, he wondered, did he have to go and leave his favorite cloak behind? Now he _had_ to see Potter again - if he wanted it back that was. Part of him wondered if he’d even miss it. It wasn’t like he wore it all that often, anyway. But as soon as he thought it, Draco knew how ridiculous that was. He was an adult. He wasn’t going to let fear, not even fear of seeing Harry again, stop him from retrieving a prized possession and beloved gift.

“Better get a move on, dear!” The mirror called from his bedroom. “Wouldn’t want to keep the young man waiting!”

Draco looked down at his wrist and swore. It was five minutes to seven and he was still trying to decide what cloak to wear. Not thinking, he grabbed his plain grey one and threw it around his shoulders, the cloak still suspended in mid-air as he Apparated to Hogsmeade. 

With a small _pop_ he Appeared in front of The Three Broomsticks, his cloak settling around him as he did. Draco felt out-of-breath and hurried, even though he’d just Apparated. He wished that he could have appeared around the side of the building, so he could take a moment to collect himself, but he didn’t want to risk the time. So he shook his hair back and pulled open the door. 

A burst of sound swallowed Draco up as he walked inside, wrapping him in a cacophony of music, conversation and laughter. He looked around, wondering who or what he should be searching for. Pansy hadn’t given him a description, but she hadn’t told him anything about the previous two either, so he could only assume that whoever he was supposed to be meeting would find him.

It didn’t take long before he heard someone behind him say, “Draco?” Draco took a deep breath and turned, expecting the worst, but when he caught sight of his date, he smiled. “I’m Finn,” the man stuck out a hand and Draco clasped it and shook. Finn was about five inches taller than Draco with golden brown hair that made Draco think of sunshine. He was dressed in black trousers and a bright blue button-down shirt that brought out the blue of his eyes. His eyes were kind and his smile was warm. For once, Draco thought, Pansy had gotten it right. “Shall we?” He asked and gestured toward an open booth toward the back of the pub.

“Of course,” Draco walked ahead of him and he swore he could feel Finn staring at him from behind. He smiled, enjoying the attention. 

They both slid into the booth just as a harassed-looking waitress hurried over. She had blonde hair that fell over her eyes in heavy ringlets, which she tried to blow out of her face. When she realized it wasn’t working, she flipped her hair back and slid a menu in front of each of them. Draco wondered if she was new and this was her first time dealing with the dinner rush. He smiled and tried not to be offended when she rushed off again without so much as welcoming them.

Finn laughed a little and Draco did the same. “Well, I guess we didn’t come here for the service.”

“True,” Draco said, “but it’s ok, I’m sure she’ll be back…” He looked around, trying to find her blonde head in the crowd. “Eventually.”

“It’ll just give us more time to get to know each other.” Finn traced the edge of the menu with one long finger that was topped with a perfectly sculpted nail. He wasn’t Harry Potter, Draco thought, and that was definitely a good thing.

“Sounds pretty good to me…” Draco looked into his eyes and wondered if he could find a future there. It wasn’t that he thought that Finn could be _the one_ after ten minutes with him, but he felt comfortable enough to hope that maybe this could blossom into something more.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

A few hours had passed in the blink of an eye and before Draco knew it, they were both scraping the last of the chocolate sauce off the plate between them. The time had vanished as they’d gotten lost in their laughter and truly excellent dinner. The slow service had given them more time to talk and get to know each other and for that Draco decided that their waitress deserved a very large tip.

As Draco licked at his spoon, he saw Finn watching him, sadness in his eyes. It was clear that he wasn’t ready to leave either. They’d had such a wonderful time that Draco was desperate to keep the evening going. Brandishing his spoon like a wand, Draco said, “Care to order a drink? I hear the mead here is fantastic.”

The words had barely left Draco’s mouth before Finn had his arm in the air, hailing their server. She rushed over and asked if there was something she could get them. Finn said, “A bottle of Rosmerta’s best,” without ever breaking eye contact with Draco. Draco tried not to let the familiar word choice bother him.

While they waited for their drinks to arrive, Draco mentioned that Scorpius loved coming to Hogsmeade on the weekends. It wasn’t until Finn had asked who Scorpius was that Draco realized he hadn’t mentioned having a son. It was a habit he’d picked up long ago, never mentioning Scorpius until he felt sure that he wanted whoever he was dating to be part of Scorpius’ life. (Zabini had only known because he’d been at Draco’s wedding and had heard through Pansy about the pregnancy.)

Finn smiled and said that he loved kids and couldn’t wait to have a couple of his own someday. At that, Draco felt a tension he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding leave his body. It was like he could relax in a way he hadn’t been able to before. 

After Finn excused himself to go to the loo, Draco sat back and marveled at the night he’d had so far. Pansy had finally been successful, picking out a man that was attractive, interesting and loved kids. He seemed to be pretty great, and Draco felt a tiny bubble of happiness forming in the pit of his stomach at the thought of seeing him again. Things had been going so well, after all, and Draco could tell that Finn felt the same way, so a second date was a sure thing. 

The waitress, who appeared to be on the verge of tears, came back with two glasses as blue as the Ravenclaw sapphires and a bottle with the cork still in it. She gave it a small tap with her wand and the corked zoomed out of the bottle and into her hand. Draco told her that she could go, he could handle pouring, and he saw her sigh in relief. 

Draco poured them each a glass and waited. He wanted to share a toast with Finn before tasting the mulberry mead. After a while, though, Draco took a sip, wondering just how long the lines to the restrooms were. It was a very busy night, he reasoned, it made sense there was a wait. 

But after fifteen minutes, and then twenty, Draco’s heart sank with the dawning realization that Finn wasn’t coming back. The second he’d found out that Draco had a son at Hogwarts, he’d bolted. He hadn’t even had the decency to finish out their date. 

Looking into the glass, Draco thought about how things had seemed so great, how he’d hoped that maybe he could have started a future with Finn. But the more he thought about it, the sadder he became. He tried telling himself that a guy like that wasn’t worth it, but it didn’t help. Downing the rest of his mead didn’t help either. And to top it all off, he was stuck with the bill for their whole meal. He didn’t know why, but he’d expected Finn to pay, perhaps because he had initiated the date. Sort of, anyway… with Pansy’s assistance. But still, he knew that a bottle of Rosmerta’s finest mead didn’t come cheap as she didn’t bottle much of it herself anymore. In fact, because of her age, most of the house bottling was taken care of by her daughter and son-in-law, who were slowly taking over the pub. And while their mead was good, it wasn’t on the same level as Rosmerta’s.

“You look…” Draco’s head snapped up when he heard a voice above him. At first he’d thought it was Finn, coming back with an apology about a disastrously long line to the men’s, but instead, he found himself staring up at Potter. “Contemplative.”

Draco considered that and then took a second to appreciate the irony of considering whether he was contemplative or not. Just as soon as that thought crossed his mind, he wondered if the mead had gone to his head already. Though, with all of the food in his stomach, he didn’t think that that was possible. But he had had a few drinks with dinner, so maybe they were taking their toll on him as well. “I am,” he said to his glass.

“Everything alright?” Potter leaned on the side of booth Finn had fled from and Draco wondered what the night might have been like had it been Potter there with him. At least with Potter, he knew where he stood. Or… no, not really, Draco corrected. And wasn’t that the problem? He had absolutely no idea where he stood with Harry Potter. Draco had an idea of where _he_ stood, and he sort of thought he had an idea of how Potter might feel, but in the end…

Draco realized that he didn’t have a clue and it was absolutely maddening.

“My date-”

“You’re on a date?” Potter sounded curious, and more than a little disappointed.

“ _Was_ on a date,” Draco corrected, sounding more disappointed that he liked to admit.

“Didn’t go well then, I take it?” When Draco looked up, Harry was no longer standing by booth, but had taken the place that Finn had so recently vacated. Draco wasn’t completely sure how he felt about sharing a booth with Harry Potter in The Three Broomsticks, but he didn’t say anything because he felt better now that he wasn’t staring across at an empty seat where once Finn sat.

“On the contrary, it was going spectacularly well until I mentioned having a son.” Draco took a deep breath in and out, rolling the stem of the glass between his fingers. “And then he ran.” He set the glass down and looked at Potter, whose face was dark.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” and from the tone of his voice, Draco could tell that he meant it. “But if he couldn’t even be honest with you, he wasn’t worth it.”

Draco snorted. “I was just trying to convince myself of that. It wasn’t going very well.” 

“I can see that,” he replied, but didn’t say anything else.

Draco took his silence as a chance to change the subject. “What are you doing in Hogsmeade tonight? Aren’t you required to eat dinner in the Great Hall with the students?” Draco ignored the fact that Potter had ordered dinner into his office the day they’d met. He didn’t particularly care where Potter was eating, he just wanted to talk about anything _other_ than his failed date.

“The headmaster likes us to, but it’s not a requirement.” Potter sat back in the bench when the poor, harassed waitress came over to clear Finn’s and Draco’s dishes from the table. She looked from Draco to Harry to the plates and then back to Draco again, as if wondering what she should do. Not bothering to wait for a response, she hurried away, arms full of dirty dishes. Draco watched her go, and felt her pain when another table tried to wave her over. “Do you mind if I join you? I really should have asked…”

“No, it’s fine. I was just about to share a drink with…” Draco didn’t want to say his name. 

“It’s probably best you don’t drink alone.” Potter looked at him, his eyes knowing. “If you don’t mind staying, I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Draco hated the thought that Potter was only asking him to stay out of pity. He didn’t want to be thought of as someone who needed to be kept company when he was down. Draco was perfectly fine by himself when he was upset. But the thought of heading home alone after being ditched made Draco’s heart ache. Swallowing his pride, he decided that he’d much rather stay with Potter than be alone right then. “Care for a glass of mead?” He gestured to the untouched glass in front of Potter, the one that had been meant for Finn.

“It’s not what I usually drink, but since you’re offering…” Potter picked up the glass and took a sip. “Rosmerta truly is an artist.”

“That she is.” Draco thought before refilling his own glass. “So, why aren’t you up at the castle tonight, then?”

“Actually…” He looked as if he were trying to decide whether to tell Draco the truth or not, which only made Draco want to know more. “I was looking at houses. Don’t get me wrong, I love Hogwarts, but lately I’ve found that I want-”

“More?” He finished, feeling the truth of it in his bones.

“Yeah!” Potter waved the waitress over and Draco felt instantly bad for her. “I love being up there and teaching, but I want someplace else to go at night. A home, rather than a glorified dorm room.”

“Professors quarters not up to snuff, then?” Draco found that he was genuinely curious as he’d never set foot in a professor’s room before. 

“They’re ok, kind of like mini-flats hidden away. Mine is actually right off my office.” The waitress came back and tried to offer Potter a menu, but he told her he didn’t need it, just to bring him whatever the special for the night was. She rushed off, leaving Draco to wonder if there were any other servers on duty that evening.

“So that’s why you were all wet the…” Draco felt his cheeks flush instantly. He hadn’t meant to say that bit out loud. But even as he felt the embarrassment burn through him, Draco imagined Potter looking clean and damp with a towel hanging around his neck, and it brought up long forgotten memories. It caused his blush to deepen.

Potter laughed good-naturedly and said, “Yeah, I had just gotten done showering. Private bathrooms. Definite perk of the job. Can you imagine bathing with all of the other professors?” He shivered a bit for effect and Draco laughed. “You know, if you’re really interested, I could should you sometime…”

“You want to show me your bathroom?” Draco couldn’t help it; it came out without his permission. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Potter seemed torn between amusement and disappointment and Draco wondered if he’d somehow offended him. “I just thought… After the other day… And because of…”

Draco felt everything inside of him tense up instantly. _The other day._ Draco had been doing his very best to forget about what had happened _the other day._ He’d been doing so well, in fact, that he hadn’t even told Pansy yet. Granted, they seemed to always be fighting now, but still, he’d managed to keep the fact that he and Harry had kissed to himself for the past few days. As far as Draco was concerned, he deserved a major prize for that. 

Then there was that _other_ thing. As far as Draco was concerned, he’d done a great job of forgetting about their past. But now, he couldn’t help but think about it. He’d always thought it was just a fling between them, but now, he couldn’t deny that it had been the beginning of something more. Something that he’d thrown away as easy as he threw out the trash. 

“Oh… right.” _Stupid,_ he cursed himself mentally. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._ If Potter had looked a little disappointed before, he looked crushed now. Draco took another hefty swig from his glass, wondering how he was managing to screw up a nice night so quickly.

“Never mind. It’s ok.” Potter tried to smile and seemed positively relieved when the waitress brought his dinner, steak and kidney pie with a heaping side of mashed potatoes. Even though Draco was stuffed, he felt his mouth water at the sight of it. “Tell me about your benefit, have you picked a caterer?”

Draco didn’t know if he was happy about the change in subject, but he went with it, feeling utterly confused about what had just happened. “Yes, I… I put my foot down and made the choice. It was just time. We’re going with The Leaky Cauldron.”

“That’s great.” Potter paused in cutting through the flaky golden brown crust of his pie. “Supporting a beloved local business is great for your cause.”

“Plus the food is fantastic.” Draco took another drink of mead, wondering how it had gotten so empty so quickly.

“There is that,” Potter lifted his fork to his mouth and Draco watched as he pulled it out, his lips sliding over the tines. He’d had those lips all to himself many times before, and now…

Draco shook his head in an effort to clear it. Allowing his mind to go down that road wasn’t going to help him any.

“And a speaker?” Potter poked around inside of the pie like he was looking for something. When he pulled it out, he had a large chunk of bright orange carrot skewered on the end.

Slumping down just a little, Draco realized that he’d barely given it any thought. Everything else (Scorpius, Pansy, the food, Harry), had been more important lately and now the benefit was right around the corner and he had absolutely no idea what to do about a speaker. “I… haven’t found anyone,” he heard himself admitting. “I haven’t had-”

"I’ll do it.” Potter shrugged and dug into his mashed potatoes.

“What?” was all that Draco managed to say.

“I’ll do it,” Potter repeated. “I’d be happy to help you out.”

Draco couldn’t help but notice the _you_ in there, and it seemed like his heart hadn’t either as it thudded in response. “I…I couldn’t. And I thought you didn’t really make public appearances anymore?”

Potter didn’t look up at him, instead he focused on his pie, picking idly at the crust. “I’m willing to make an exception for you and Hope for Heroes. Just let me know if you change your mind, yeah?”

“Alright,” Draco downed the rest of his mead without even thinking about it. His mind was reeling and his heart had picked a steady thudding rhythm. He couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Can I ask you something?”

“Ok,” Potter looked a little suspicious about the request, but Draco plowed on anyways.

“Why did you give Scorpius private lessons?” Draco didn’t know what possessed him to ask that, but he couldn’t deny that it was something that was still bothering him. He knew that Harry had told him before that it was because he wanted to help his students, but for some reason, he felt like that wasn’t the whole story. Draco still wondered why a professor had taken the time to do private tutoring sessions when he could easily have had an older student do it for him? “I’m sure that must have been plenty of older students who’d have been happy for the points.” Draco went over what he’d just said in his head, trying to figure out if it made sense or not.

Potter seemed to consider the question, his fork hanging over his pie. “He reminded me of you, I guess. I just… wanted to help out, like I never did with you.”

Draco took a moment to consider what Potter had just said. Either the mead was getting to him more than he’d thought, or Potter simply wasn’t making any sense. “I don’t understand.”

“I…” A faint flush crept into Potter’s cheeks and Draco couldn’t stop himself from leaning over, wishing he could brush his fingertips over the skin. “I’ve always wondered what would have happened if I’d gone after you that night. You know, not let you leave so easily. Maybe we might still be together. I didn’t want to make that same mistake again.”

And there it was.

Draco was surprised that it had taken this long for either of them to bring up their past. Well… surprised at Potter’s restraint, anyway. Not his own. He’d made it his mission to pretend like they’d never happened. But now that it was out there, there was no going back. His head swam as he tried to sift through all of the thoughts and feelings that that brought up. He couldn’t deny that he’d wondered what would have happened if had stayed with Harry, how his life might have turned out different. But even as he thought it, Draco knew that he wouldn’t change the past because it would mean losing Scorpius. 

“I’m trying not to now,” Potter whispered into his pie and Draco wondered if he’d actually said, or if it was just wishful thinking on his part. 

Draco didn’t say anything. What could he say? What if he really had just been hearing things? He’d have ended up looking like a prat and he didn’t think he needed any help there. So he poured himself another glass of mead and took a quick sip off the top. “Well, thank you. I really appreciate it.” It was a poor response, but it was all he could bring himself to say.

Potter nodded and eyed the bright blue glass in Draco’s hand. He looked like he wanted to say something about it, but didn’t. “So… you were on a date?” 

It was a very random shift, but Draco didn’t really care. After the night he’d had, and with all of the mead coursing through his system, he was prepared to talk about pretty much anything. “Yes, and it was going _fabulously_ , too.” He hated the word, but it was a favorite of Pansy’s. “Until…”

“Yeah, until.” Draco noticed that Potter didn’t look too upset by what had happened.

“Pansy has been setting me up on all of these random dates lately. They’ve all been…” He waved his free hand, the one not clutching his mead, around as if that explained everything. “She thinks I’m unhappy. That I need to get a life. But I keep trying to tell her that Scorpius is my life. I’m all he has, since Astoria died in childbirth. Would you believe that? We can regrow every bone in the human body, but we don’t have a charm to stop someone from bleeding out.” Potter looked like he was about to say something, but Draco didn’t let him. “I never loved her. Well, I loved her, but I wasn’t _in_ love with her, which I guess you know. Or she with me. We both just married…”

“Draco,” Potter interrupted him softly, “I think it’s time you had some coffee.” He reached out for the glass, trying to take it from him, but Draco pulled it away, spilling a bit on the table. “Please.”

“We married to try and save our reputations. And here I am, still trying to do just that.” Draco quickly downed the glass of mead before handing it over to Potter, who, as far as he could tell, was looking very worried. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“I really wouldn’t suggest it right now,” Potter’s eyes were pleading and he was trying to wave the waitress over.

“I am so painfully miserable. And lonely. I want to be happy again. I _need_ to be happy again.” Draco felt a strange weight lift off his chest at the confession. He shook back his hair, or tried to anyway, but felt himself sway as he did. When he looked over at Potter, he was shocked to find the rest of his dinner boxed up to go and a tip sitting on the table. When had that happened, he wondered. “Were we happy, Harry?”

“Come on,” The next thing Draco knew, Potter was standing next to him and taking his elbow to help him stand up. Draco went with it, trying to reach for the half-empty mead bottle, which Potter deftly steered him away from. “I’m taking you home. You can’t Apparate like this.” Draco didn’t protest; he was too focused on putting one foot in front of the other so that he didn’t fall. As it was, he stumbled a bit. Potter easily wrapped an arm around his waist to support him. Draco leaned into the touch, loving the feel of Potter’s body pressed against his and the warmth between them. 

“Harry…” He heard himself whisper, but he didn’t say anything else. 

“We’re almost outside. As soon as we’re there, I can Apparate us to your flat. What’s the address?” 

Draco told him and hoped that he’d gotten it right. For all he knew, he’d just given Potter the address of the little dim sum place he liked so much. When they passed over the threshold from of the pub, Draco hissed as the cold night air hit him. He felt his mind begin to clear a bit and was suddenly painfully aware that he had his arm wrapped around Potter’s waist and was gripping him tightly. His first instinct was to let go and put a little space between them, but he knew that if he did, he’d end up on the ground. Then there was that tiny little part of him (that wasn’t really all that tiny anymore) which enjoyed being snuggled up to Harry Potter, so he did nothing.

Potter led them to the alley right next to The Three Broomsticks, the rest of his dinner wrapped in a to-go that he was clutching in his free hand. “Hold on to me.” Draco didn’t need to be told twice. “Here were go…” Draco felt a sharp tug behind his navel that sent a quick wave of nausea through his entire body. It took all of his concentration to keep from puking up everything he’d had for dinner… 

“What did I…” Draco groaned and quickly pressed his hand against his eyes to block out the sunlight that was assaulting his senses. “Oh no…” He moved to sit up, but stopped dead when his head gave a very painful and very definite throb that kept him flat on his back. 

It took on a minute for Draco to realize that he was tucked in bed, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of cotton pajamas bottoms. He didn’t know why, but it struck him as odd that his feet were bare. As he laid there, his head pounding, Draco tried to remember what had happened the night before. He could remember Finn and how they’d been having a great time until he’d mentioned his son. After that, Potter had shown up and then that’s when things got really fuzzy. Draco had the horrible feeling that he’d said quite a few things he shouldn’t have. He could sort of remember talking about Astoria and how she’d died, and then something about Pansy. He could also recall something about being lonely, though he prayed that he hadn’t actually gone that far. 

Draco turned his head just enough to see a glass of water, two pills and a note waiting on the bedside table for him. Unable to sit up, he reached over and carefully pulled the note off of the table. It read, _“Draco, I put your clothes in the hamper, I hope that that’s ok. I didn’t know what to do with them. And don’t worry; I used a quick charm to change your clothes. I didn’t see anything. I’m guessing you’re feeling pretty awful right now, so I left a couple of hangover pills that I got from George Weasley. It’s his newest invention. Don’t worry, they’re safe. I’ve taken them before. I’m still willing to speak at your event, if you want. Harry. P.S. Your glasses are on the bedside table.”_

He looked over at the pills, wiggled his bare feet under the blanket and tried to move his head. The bolt of pain that shot through it left him gasping. When the pain had calmed down some, he reached over, grabbed the little purple pills and popped them in his mouth. As he swallowed, making sure to drink the whole glass of water, Draco felt a tidal wave of nausea hit him. He tried to be as still as possible, waiting for it to pass. He was _not_ going to puke up his guts because of a hangover. 

Unwilling to move, Draco stared up at the ceiling. He’d just taken who knew what. Sure, Harry had said they were ok, but he had no idea what they’d really do to him. He thought about vomiting them up, just to be safe, but quickly decided against that. He had the distinct feeling that if he started puking, he wouldn’t stop. All he could do was lie there and hope for the best… whatever that was.

In an effort to escape how awful he felt, Draco tried to go back to sleep, but couldn’t. His mind was racing, trying to remember what had happened the night before. But the more he thought about it, the worse it seemed. Had he really told Potter he was lonely? And why had Potter made sure he put his clothes in the hamper, rather than throw them over a chair? He had a quick flash of himself with his head in the toilet and prayed that he hadn’t thrown up in front of Harry Potter. He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. Could he have made more of a fool of himself?

“Hello?” Draco froze mid-groan at the sound of a voice in his flat. As far as he knew, he’d secured the Floo, so the only one who could get in was… “Draco! What are you still doing in bed?” Pansy’s voice felt like a sharp jab in the temple. “Is this why you didn’t show up for work today?” 

Draco tried to turn his head to look at her and was shocked when the throbbing from before was merely a dull ache now. Even his nausea seemed to have eased up some. “What time is it?” His voice was scratchy and Draco found that he was suddenly desperate for water; he reached for the glass, even though he knew that it was empty. 

Pansy pulled it from his grasp and filled it in the bathroom. The sound of the rushing tap caused a painful jolt to surge through his bladder. Worries about his head forgotten, Draco rushed into the loo just as Pansy was coming out. He’d barely gotten the door shut before he yanked open the front of his pajama pants to relieve himself. 

“You must have had some night!” Pansy called from his bedroom.

Draco didn’t answer. How could he? What kind of response could he give to that? So he ignored her, flushing the toilet and stepping into the shower instead. He didn’t stay in long; his head was still aching and it felt like his legs would give way any second. But he stayed in long enough to scrub away the layer of grime he felt covering his body. After brushing his teeth and combing out his wet hair, Draco stepped out of the shower. He was shocked to find a clean pair of pajamas waiting for him, along with a fresh towel.

Clothed and feeling somewhat human again, Draco opened the bathroom door and was a little surprised to find that Pansy had cleaned the bed linens and remade it. It didn’t have a mint on the pillow, but it looked amazing. He was just about to thank her when she said, “Hope you don’t mind. It reeked in here.”

“No, it’s great,” he said and meant it. He padded slowly across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. He turned his head from side to side, testing how much pain was still there. The pills had helped greatly and now his headache was down to a dull throb that was much more bearable. His stomach seemed to have settled, too, happy with the three glasses of water he’d downed before stepping in the shower. Draco didn’t know what was in the pills, but they’d helped a lot more than any hangover charm he’d ever tried. “Thanks.”

“So tell me… What did you think of Finn?” Pansy smiled at him, looking smug and excited.

“He was great.” Pansy’s face split into a wide grin. “Until he ditched me.”

“What?” She sounded genuinely shocked, which warmed Draco’s heart.

“I mentioned Scorpius.” Draco scrubbed his hands over his clean face, wishing he could scrub the memory from his mind. “I didn’t even mean to do it, it just slipped out. He went to the bathroom and never came back.”

Pansy sat down on the bed next to him, her face a mask of anger and heartbreak. “I’m so sorry, darling. I’d never have set you up with him if I thought-”

“I know.” He stopped her, not needing to hear her apology. “Can we just stop fighting now? I know we’re both very stressed out over the charity ball, and it’s got us both on edge, but I’m so tired of fighting with you.”

“Oh, Draco.” Pansy lunged forward and wrapped her arms around him. Draco hissed in pain, but she didn’t let go and for that, he was grateful. “I’m sorry I’ve been so awful lately. I just want you-”

“I know,” he said again. “Let’s just start over, ok?”

“Of course,” she pulled away and wiped hastily at her cheeks. “Is that why you’re so hungover? Because of a bad date?”

“Yes. No. Yes.” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to remember everything that had happened and wishing that it hadn’t. Pansy stared at him, patiently waiting to an explanation. “Potter showed up right after Finn left…”

Draco told her the entire sad tale about his date with Finn, what had happened with Harry after and how he’d couldn’t really remember what _had_ happened past a certain point. Somehow he’d ended up telling her all about Scorpius’ “flying problem” and what had happened on the bleachers afterwards. By that time, he couldn’t stop himself, even going so far as to tell her about how he really was unhappy and how he wanted to make some major changes in his life. He’d spared her no details, not even that of the kiss on the pitch and the time he and Harry had shared together.

By the end, he felt exhausted, like he’d just played the most strenuous game of Quidditch of his life. Pansy, who had been silent the entire time, looked as worn out as he felt. Strangely enough, Draco noticed that his headache was pretty much gone and his stomach was settled. 

“Draco…” For the first time, in a very long time, Pansy seemed to be at a loss for words. 

“I don’t know what to do.” Draco slumped down, wanting nothing more than to curl up in his warm comforter once again. Pansy seemed to sense exactly that as she gently pushed him over and curled up behind him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. It had been years since anyone had held Draco like that and the comfort and kindness of it brought tears to his eyes.

“You have to go after him,” she whispered, rubbing his arm softly. “This is obviously more than a crush.”

“I can’t,” he said, wiping at a stray tear on his cheek. 

“Why not?” Pansy stilled behind him, waiting for his answer.

“Because…” Draco searched for one of the many reasons that had seemed so obvious to him before. “He’s… He’s… He’s… Harry Potter. And I’m me. And we don’t fit. Never have. And I hurt him and ruined things ages ago. How could he possibly want to be with me anymore?” Even as he said it, he thought about how comfortable he’d been with Harry as they sat in the Hufflepuff stands and how Harry had seemed to understand about the food from The Leaky Cauldron. Then there was the fact that Potter obviously liked kids and was good with them and he wanted a home to call his own. It was stupid, Draco thought, to think that they could be good together simply because they both wanted to live in a house.

“If you ask me, it sounds like you’re trying to talk yourself out of something that could be a good thing.” She squeezed his shoulder. “When we were in school, you two seemed like complete opposites, two sides of a galleon. But I always knew that at your core, you were the same. Both passionate and fiery and fiercely loyal - that always scared me.”

“Why?” He tried to turn to look at her, but she held him tight.

“Part of me always knew, I guess, that you and I would never be like that. We’re too much alike in some ways and not enough in the ones that matter. But you and Potter are like two halves of a whole.” She sounded wistful, like she was caught in the past.

“Why did you never tell me this?” 

“Would you have listened then?” 

“No,” Draco admitted, thinking about how stubborn he’d been as a child.

“That’s why.” Pansy snuggled in a little closer, leaning over to give him a small kiss on the cheek. “I knew you’d figure it out eventually. I just didn’t think it would take this long.”

Draco laid with his eyes closed, thinking over everything Pansy had said. The way Potter had been acting, the small touches and little comments. “He kissed me and I still couldn’t believe…”

“Well, darling, you always were a bit thick.” She laughed and hugged him closer. “But its ok, I still love you. And if you play your cards right, Potter might…”

“Oh, Pansy, I’ve completely screwed things up. There’s no way,” Draco pressed his face into his pillow, wishing he could take back every single thing he’d said to Potter since first stepping foot in his office. 

“He left you a note, offering to speak at your event, along with a hangover cure. He even put you in your jammies and made sure to tuck you into bed. You clearly haven’t ruined your chances with him.” She paused and seemed to consider something. “But if you keep acting like a prat, you might still.”

He moaned into his pillow, wondering how his life had turned into _this_. He lifted his head just enough to ask, “what do I do?” 

“I can’t tell you how to make this right,” Pansy said. “But accepting his offer to speak at our event is a good place to start…”

Once again, Draco groaned into his pillow.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

A week passed without another word about Potter. True to her word, Pansy didn’t try and tell Draco what to do or give him any advice about how to make things better with him. Draco, for his part, had taken to completely ignoring any and all mention of, or contact with, him. The most he’d heard of Potter since his disastrous night with him was a passing mention in one of Scorpius’ letters. He tried not to read too much into it, which was easy, as it was just his son recounting something he’d said to him in class.

But every morning when he left his flat or when he came home from work, he saw it there, hanging on the stand by the door - Harry’s ratty old cloak. Seeing a cloak that wasn’t his hanging on the rack made him feel less alone, like maybe there someone waiting to kiss him before he left for work, or right when he got home, but he knew that was just a fantasy.

He also couldn’t help but think about his own, hanging in Potter’s office. He wondered if maybe Potter thought of him whenever he saw it, just like Draco thought of him. Draco hoped that he did. He also hoped that maybe Potter might decide to bring it to him one day. 

That didn’t really surprise him, though, as Potter had never checked on him. Not once. And that bothered Draco. He found that he wanted Harry to visit, to see how he was doing. Even a quick owl would have been nice. But even that wasn’t to be. 

When Draco could take it no longer, when he could no longer stand to see that tatty cloak hanging in his flat, Draco grabbed it off the rack and Apparated just outside the gates of Hogwarts. He stood there with it clutched in his fist, the worn fabric soft against his palm. 

Unlike the first time he’d visited Hogwarts, Draco didn’t wait for anyone to welcome him or escort him inside. He pushed the gate open and strode up to the castle, no longer the intimidated ex-Death Eater afraid to revisit his past. Draco walked through the entrance and straight to Harry’s office, passing one or two house elves that looked mutinous at his lack of interest in them. He was pretty sure they were about to hex him, but he’d reached Potter’s office and knocked before they had a chance. 

The second Potter opened the door and smiled at the sight of him, they walked away, clearly upset that they hadn’t gotten the chance to exercise their new-found power on Draco. Draco had two seconds to feel smug about it before he had to speak. “Potter,” He swallowed, wishing he’d come up with something to say before he’d stormed the gates of Harry’s office. “I have your cloak. I accidentally…”

“Ran off with it?” Potter supplied, ever so helpfully.

Draco paused to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “Yes. Exactly.” 

Harry stepped out of the way and ushered Draco inside. Draco stepped in, painfully aware of just how close Harry was to him. Anyone else would have taken a step back, but not Harry. It was as though he wanted to be as close to Draco as possible. That was a thought that made the tips of Draco’s ears burn.

“I want to apologize,” Draco started, not daring to turn and look at Potter, whom he could hear closing the door behind him. “I shouldn’t have just run that day.” He couldn’t bring himself to say, _the day we kissed_. So far they’d avoided the topic, and Draco didn’t think that he could bring it up now, not without dying of embarrassment. “And also for the other night.” Unable to avoid it any longer, he turned to look at Potter. “And for what happened… _before_.”

Harry was standing there, shower-fresh in sweat pants and a t-shirt. His hair was still wet and Draco wanted to smile at how it was drying into unmanageable little peaks and horns. The candle sitting on the edge of his desk danced in his eyes, and flashed off the gold rims of his glasses. The sight of him made Draco’s chest ache. “I was…” he started to say, but found that he couldn’t finish.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Harry shrugged, as if he couldn’t care less about what had happened at The Three Broomsticks. “I’ve been there before. I’m just glad that someone was there for you.” He ignore the rest.

“Umh…” He felt suddenly embarrassed, even more so than the morning after he’d woken up hungover and unable to remember what had happened. “Still. I’m sorry. And thank you, for… for making sure that I got home alright. I’d be happy to reimburse you for the bill.” Draco cringed inside. He had no idea how much he and Finn had racked up between dinner, drinks and dessert, not to mention the bottle of mead. It couldn’t have been cheap. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Next time, you can pay.” He laughed a little, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just said. 

“I don’t understand you, Harry.” And he really didn’t. Everything about the Harry Potter standing before him seemed to defy Draco’s expectations. 

“Now you know how I feel.” Potter pressed his lips together, as if in thought. “You aren’t going to run away again, are you? Because the last time…”

“I’m not running,” The words slipped out faster than a snitch through a seeker’s fingers. “I’m right here.”

“Good.” Harry smiled and reached out. Draco thought that he was going to take the cloak from him, but instead, he closed his hand over Draco’s and pulled him close. Draco didn’t hesitate or trip over his own feet. He went willingly, happy to close the gap between them. When they were a whispered breath apart, Harry said, “I want to be happy, too. I think we can be happy together.”

“I…” Draco tried to say, but before he could get anything else out, Harry’s lips were on his, as tentative as the brush of a butterfly’s wings. 

All too soon, Harry pulled away, just enough so that he could say, “is this ok?” His lips brushed against Draco’s with every word and with every little touch and caress, he felt tiny tingles spread over his body. “You aren’t going to disappear again, are you?”

Draco thought of a million different ways to answer his questions, but only one that made sense. With his nerves bubbling over like an un-tended cauldron, Draco closed the minuscule distance, giving himself over to Harry with his lips. He heard a tiny cry of relief come from Harry and felt it echo through his soul.

When Draco pulled back, he was surprised to find that his free hand had made its way around Harry’s neck and his fingers had twined themselves through the hair at the nape of his neck. Harry was desperately clasping his hand and squeezing his shoulder with his other hand. “Please don’t take your cloak back,” Harry whispered. “I love seeing it there, next to mine. Kind of like maybe we could be… together. _Really_ together, this time.”

Draco’s grip tightened on Harry’s cloak, remembering how he’d thought the very same thing. “Ok,” he said, not daring to move even the tiniest bit, for fear it would cause the bubble around them to burst. “Can I take yours…” He was about to say _home_ , but at the last second, realized that he felt more at home right now, with Potter, then he’d felt in his flat in months.

Harry swallowed and nodded, “Yeah. I-” A tiny knock at the door caused them to spring apart like guilty teenagers and Draco found himself gasping for breath, like he’d just surfaced after being caught under water for too long.

“Not to be interuppin’, Harry Potter, sir,” The house elf from Draco’s very first visit to Hogwarts peeked her head into Potter’s office. “But is you going to be eating in your office tonight? We was wonderin’ because we haven’t heard anything in the kitchen.”

“Umh, I hadn’t really…” Draco watched as Harry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of nose, where his glasses had slipped down from. He had to stifle a laugh as he thought about all the times he’d done the same exact thing. “...Thought about it yet.” He looked over at Draco, eyes lit up like he’d just had a brilliant idea. “Would you like to join me for dinner?” he asked hopefully.

Draco opened his mouth to say yes, but he suddenly remembered, “I can’t. I have to meet with Pansy to finalize the last of the arrangements for the benefit.” His heart sank at the look of disappointment of Harry’s face.

The look didn’t stay there long, however. “Minky,” he said to the elf, “I will be having dinner in my room tonight. Just send up whatever you think I’d like. You know my favorites.” She smiled beatifically and bowed to him before disappearing with a loud _pop_.

Without any warning, Harry asked, “Who did you get to speak at your benefit?”

Draco’s shoulder slumped ever so slightly. “I haven’t yet. And the ball is next week. That’s one of things I need to figure out tonight.”

“I’m speaking at your benefit.” Harry nodded as if that settled everything. When Draco opened his mouth to protest, he said, “Don’t bother. I’m way more stubborn than you.” He smiled to let Draco know that he was only half-serious. “Now that that’s settled…” He reached out like he wanted to pull Draco back to him, but Draco stepped away.

“I really do need to get back to Pansy,” the regret and longing were obvious in his voice. “I hadn’t planned on…” He gestured helplessly with the cloak, hoping that it would sum up the _everything_ that he hadn’t planned on. It wasn’t like he’d had a plan when he decided to visit Harry, but he certainly hadn’t expected things to go the way they had.

“Out of curiosity,” Harry titled his head a little. “What had you been planning when you came here?”

“I…” Draco felt his neck and cheeks begin to burn hotly. He took a deep breath before confessing, “I… just wanted to see you.” If there was ever a time for absolute honesty, he thought, it was now. “I hadn’t heard from you since…”

“I’m sorry about that.” Harry hung his head a little. “I didn’t really know how to approach you after and then I got busy with classes and… yeah. It just kind of became easier to ignore what had happened, even though I…” He didn’t bother to finish, he didn’t need to.

Draco couldn’t stop the tiny bubble of laughter that came up then. It caused Harry to look up at him, a question on his face. “It’s just that I felt the same way. That’s why it took me so long to come here.”

“We are complete prats,” Harry proclaimed happily. 

“I’m sure that Pansy would agree with you heartily,” he said. “Well…”

“Yes, well.” Harry didn’t seem to be able to keep the grin off of his face, which made him look younger than Draco had ever seen him before. “You said you needed to get back to work? Not that I want you to run away from me again.”

“You are never going to let me forget that, are you?” Draco was amazed how easy things seemed between them already. They’d barely touched or spent any time together, but already Draco felt more relaxed and comfortable with Harry than he ever had with anyone else he’d dated. It was as if a switch had been flipped between them.

“Nope.” Harry didn’t hesitate this time when he reached out to pull Draco to him. “But if you do, I’ll make sure to run after you this time.”

Draco groaned and leaned his head against Harry’s shoulder. “Please do not become some romantic cliché, I beg of you.” His arms were trapped between their bodies, and his wrists were twisted uncomfortably, but Draco wasn’t about to move. It felt wonderful to be held, even if their… whatever it was, was still new. It felt _right_ , and that was what was important to him.

“Hey, maybe if I had, we could have saved ourselves some trouble.” Harry ran his hands over Draco’s back, like he was trying to map out the planes and curves beneath his cloak. 

“And a couple of really bad dates.” Draco thought about the three dates Pansy had sent him on; he couldn’t even remember the first guy’s name. Something with a T, maybe?

“Not to mention a _huge_ bill at The Leaky Cauldron.” Harry laughed and Draco realized the sound was even more wonderful when pressed up against Harry’s chest.

“Another thing I’m never going to live down?” He tried to sound offended, but he found it completely impossible to feel anything less than content at that moment. 

“Yep.” Surprisingly enough, it was Harry who pulled away. “Not that I don’t want you to stay, but you have work to do and now I need to Floo Hermione to see if she can help me write a speech.”

Back on his own two feet, Draco marveled at how his life had changed so drastically since walking into Harry’s office. He’d knocked on the door feeling upset that Harry hadn’t checked on him and utterly hopeless about the state of things between them. Now, as he was about to leave, he felt like he could see a different future unrolling before him. One in which he was happy and in love, where he lived in a beautiful house with his son and maybe, hopefully, Harry, the three of them making one happy little family. 

But even as that beautiful vision materialized before him, Draco felt his confidence waver. “Is this really possible?” he heard himself asking. “I mean, you’re you and I’m me. And…”

“Draco,” Harry said, seeming to enjoy using his given name for the first time. “We’re not those kids anymore. We’ve both come a long way and changed a lot. We can have whatever we want.”

Draco stared at him, hoping he was right, hoping that they would be able to defy the Wizarding world’s expectations and, Draco thought, his own.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

“It was a beautiful event, Draco.” Hermione, large and as round as quaffle with her first pregnancy, smiled at him. “I’m so glad we could make it.” Ron stood behind her, tugging at the collar of his black dress robes. They were much better than the ones he’d worn to the Yule Ball, but he still looked painfully uncomfortable and Draco wondered if he had an aversion to dress robes in general now.

Shaking her hand gently, Draco marveled at her. Much like Harry, she seemed to be a different person than she had been at Hogwarts. She was still the brilliant know-it-all who had _Hogwarts: A History_ memorized, but she hadn’t flinched at the sight of him. It was as though their shared, horrible past didn’t matter. 

Ron he couldn’t be so sure about, but then again, Ron had spent the entire night either eating or doting on his very pregnant wife. It said something, Draco thought, that Weasley hadn’t made one snide remark or even given him a dirty look. 

After they left, Draco turned to look back into the ballroom that had hosted the tenth anniversary ball for Hope for Heroes. The tables were all a mess now, the dance floor deserted, but it still looked beautiful. The red flowers Pansy had picked adorned every available surface and were dotted with little silver accents that were carried through to the table settings. Pistachio’s ice cream bar had been a huge hit, the snow globes filled with tiny snowflakes delighting everyone who saw them and the new Honeydukes toppings inspiring everyone to top their sundaes like they were first years. The night had been filled with dancing and laughter and a truly amazing meal that had been served family-style at each table. Harry’s speech had been the highlight of the night, bringing many to tears and all to their feet. Draco had stood at the back of the room, watching in amazement as Harry Potter enthralled the crowd at his and Pansy’s event. 

All in all, it had been a beautiful night and they’d raised quite a bit of money to put towards new programs for Hope for Heroes. And more than one guest had told Draco that he simply _had_ to host another event the following year. The thought of going through it all again terrified him, but he’d smiled and said, “we’ll see…” 

After the last guest left, Draco felt an arm slide around his waist from behind and a chin come to rest on his shoulder. “You and Pansy did an incredible job,” Harry said, his chin pressing into Draco’s shoulder as he spoke. “It was a beautiful night.”

Draco smiled, but rather than thank him, she said, “I want to show you something.” Even though he hated to do it, he pulled himself out of Harry’s grasp, taking his hand instead. He led him towards the entrance doors and two large bins that had been set up there. From far away, it looked like tree branches had been stuck in the boxes, but up close, it became obvious that what was sticking out were the smooth, polished handles of broomsticks. Lots of them. It only took a quick look or two to tell they weren’t new, but they were all in great condition, much better than the ones at Hogwarts. 

“Draco, I…” Harry let go of Draco’s hand and walked over to the boxes, examining the brooms inside. “What is this?”

“These brooms were donated by guests… for Hogwarts. For you.” Draco didn’t try to hide the pleased smile that was spreading over his face. “Like you said, the school brooms are rubbish, and the school wouldn’t give you the funding for new ones…”

Hand poised on the mahogany handle of a broom, Harry paused. “How did you keep this from me? I saw Hermione’s invitation.”

“Well,” Draco walked over next to him, feeling a little Slytherin pride sneaking in. “You got here before the benefit started, so we just didn’t put the bins out until you were inside. And then I made it my personal mission to keep you occupied and out of the foyer all night.”

“But the invitations were sent out weeks ago. How did you pull this off on such short notice?” Draco could see Harry’s mind reeling as he tried to figure it out.

“I planned this ages ago,” Draco admitted. “I had Pansy leave it off of Hermione’s invitation so that you wouldn’t accidentally see it.”

“But I only just convinced you to let me speak.”

“I hadn’t thought that bit through,” Draco realized. “I would probably have brought them by one day.”

“In the hope of seducing me?” Harry’s eyes sparkled, though he’d make a joke, he was being serious.

“I guess so,” Draco smiled and felt something deep in the pit of his stomach turn warm. Now that he thought about it, he really hadn’t thought the plan through. All he knew was that he’d wanted to collect brooms for Harry’s classes, and he’d done it. Quite successfully, and without spending a single Knut from the Malfoy family vaults. 

“You are amazing,” Harry said, before pulling Draco into his arms. He didn’t kiss him, just held onto Draco like he was the most precious thing in the world. “Absolutely amazing.”

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

“You know…” Pansy sidled up to him a few hours later, a glass of mead in her hands. They’d been working on cleaning up for hours and both were exhausted. “The event was a smash, everyone said so. They were practically _begging_ for us to host another one next year.” She looked at him, the question obvious in her eyes.

Draco couldn’t deny that it had turned out beautifully, despite all of their problems. “I guess we could try it once more. So long as we keep the fights to a minimum.” He couldn’t stop it from slipping out.

Pansy seemed to think about what he’d said and then nodded. But of course, she couldn’t leave it at that. “If you’d have asked Potter to speak like I’d originally suggested, you could have saved yourself a lot of problems.”

Draco snorted and shook his head. What could he say? He certainly wasn’t about to admit that she was right, even if she totally was. He’d never hear the end of it from her.

“Are you happy, darling?” She leaned against him, their shoulders pressing solidly together.

He looked over at her and smiled, thinking about the future and what it might hold for him, Scorpius and Harry. “Getting there.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-erised.livejournal.com/48805.html). ♥
> 
> This story is part of an on-going anonymous fest hosted at [hd_erised @ livejournal.com](http://hd_erised.livejournal.com/). The author will be revealed January 8th.


End file.
